2 AM
by NerdApple
Summary: Learning to cope in a world without Sophia, Carol is plagued with a strange insomnia that wakes her every morning at 2AM. New relationships are forged as she finds an unexpected strength in the local crossbow happy redneck and a young girl desperate for a mother. 7/? Rated M for mature content in chapter 7.
1. The Mysterious Thunking Noise

Disclaimer! I unfortunately do not own any part of the Walking Dead franchise, including the characters. It is the storyline I claim and that is it.

As an author's note, this is my grand re-entrance into writing Fanfiction. It's been a couple years since I've had any shows that I love enough to write anything more than little one shot drabbles that don't leave my head. So all my love to Robert Kirkman, writer of the comics, and the writers of the show for bringing these characters to life! Please read, hopefully like it, and leave me some reviews! This will end up being a multi-chapter story, though I can't say how far it'll go. I've got a plot working itself out, and updates should be about once a week, depending on how my schedule works out and how finicky the characters decide to be. Enjoy!

-Pyrate

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><p>0221/2012

Prompt: 2 AM

Fandom: Walking Dead

Pairing: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier

It was the steady, rhythmic plunk that woke him, driving the already elusive sleep even further away. For a split second, Daryl forgot where he was and chalked the sound up to Merle banging his latest score. He rolled over on his shitty mattress to slam a fist against the wall, preparing a sarcastic comment about whatever disease his brother was sure to wake up with. His body met the hard ground instead, his fist not making a damn sound as it plowed into the soft material of the tent. The ensuing fumbling and curses brought him from the sleepy illusion, bringing the harsh reality of this new world rushing back to the forefront of his mind.

He took a minute to just lie there in the darkness, reveling in the peace before recalling the odd noise outside his tent. The hunter in him was immediately on guard, shouting at his body to get up and investigate. The rational part that just wanted to go back to sleep told the hunter to shut the fuck up. Walkers shuffled, not marched in time. Even still, he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep until he knew what was going on.

Pushing himself up, he disentangled the sleeping bag and blankets that had gotten wrapped around his lower body, pushing them to side. His sore muscles screamed in protest as he rose, burning from physical labour of yesterday. God, was just a few hours to sleep it off too much to ask? He grumbled under his breath as he unzipped his tent and stepped out into the frigid night. The odd noise had stopped, making him pause. The ruckus he'd made coming out of the tent must have frightened whatever it was off.

If he had really overreacted for a squirrel or some other stupid little critter—well, he knew what they'd be having for breakfast tomorrow. His hand crept around to finger the knife strapped to his hip, tightening on the hilt as the thumping resumed. He brought the knife up in front of his chest, taking a defensive position as he stepped forward.

His muscles tensed in anticipation, his heart rate accelerating as it always did before a potential kill. The rush of adrenaline was exhilarating as it flooded his system. If it was a walker, he'd enjoy taking it down, provided it wasn't just one of many.

An ambush was definitely not what he needed when running on what couldn't be more than three hours of sleep. One walker? Easy as skinning a squirrel. Half a dozen? Well, he wasn't so inclined to stick around with just his hunting knife. No matter how it looked, jerking a knife out of skull and brain matter was no easy task. And he sure as hell wouldn't be able to take down five fast enough to save his ass from getting bit. Considering he wanted to be around to see his next birthday, whatever made up date in the future that might be, he silently hoped it was just one geek.

It wasn't difficult to figure out where the sound was coming from. It was also increasing in speed. Furrowing his brow, Daryl picked up his pace, hurrying toward the tree line before the open land that old man Hershel's house stood on. What he saw confused the hell out of him. A figure, one he wasn't completely able to make out, was . . .throwing itself at a tree? For a second, he just stood there stunned, completely unsure what to make of this. He'd seen a lot of idiots in his time and walkers took the meaning brain dead far too literal, but what the hell? Resisting the urge to laugh, he let his grip on the knife loosen slightly. No sense in embedding the handle into his flesh for this one.

As he approached the figure slowly began to take shape, features becoming more distinct as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw a slight frame, too slim from months of stress and an improper diet. Short hair kept close to the scalp. A thin arm wrapped tightly around one of his hatchets. Another step forward let him see the dozens of gashes in the bark of the tree where a thin, sharp object had repeatedly been driven into it. The muscle in his jaw ticked as his teeth clenched. He didn't bother to keep his steps quiet anymore; so what if the crazy woman heard him? Serve her right to get a little scared. He nearly stalked over to her, wanting to wrench the damned hatchet out her hand. He knew the moment she heard the leaves and twigs crunch beneath his feet, her body tensing as her ears pricked up. She didn't turn, but stood there poised in preparation for an attack. He refused to be proud of her for that.

"What do you want, Daryl?" Carol's voice was rough, her throat raw from smothered cries and ragged breathing. The words were shaky, threatening to break on her. She swallowed that weakness and inhaled slowly, trying to work up the courage to turn around and look at him. She only made it halfway, turning her head to the side to view him from her peripherals. It was dark, not like she'd really be able to see him anyway. It should be easier in the dark; she wouldn't have to see the look on his face. And yet, that's not how her brain rationalized it. So she didn't look directly at him, keeping her eyes fixed on a stick a few feet away.

"The fuck are you doing?" The words, though vulgar and harsh, didn't come out that way. They were tense, but tinged with exhaustion and confusion. Slightly taken off guard, she shrugged and gestured to the tree with the hand that held the hatchet.

"Redecorating," she replied sarcastically, swiping a hand across her brow before finally turning around to face him. She kept her stance stiff, the hatchet swaying by her side. She hoped he would get the idea and just leave her alone. Talking to anyone, especially him, was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Hacking away at the tree had been making her feel better, a kind of violent therapy that she was nowhere near done with after the fitful night of sleep she hadn't gotten. It had been hard enough trying to sleep by herself in her tent. Another one of those nights where every time she closed her eyes she saw her baby girl reaching out to her, begging to be found and saved. When she finally had gotten to sleep, she'd been haunted by images of that day. Seeing that little body stumble out of the barn over and over again. She shook her head sharply, burying the resurfacing images and the feelings of despair that came with them.

Daryl's amused snort brought her back to the present. "Hershel'll love what you've done." He pointed at her with the hand that stiff held the knife, the blade steady and accusing. "You're a new breed a fool for being out by yourself, woman. Suppose a walker had happened by? What would you have done then?" Dropping the knife back into the holster at his hip, he fixed her with a sharp glare as a disturbing train of thought wiggled into his brain.

"Would you have done anything?" He couldn't get keep the accusatory venom from his voice, his real question blatant. He watched her eyes widen in the dark, her mouth opening in surprise.

"Is _that_ what you think I was doing out here? Playing the role of bait in some twisted game of Go Fish?" Carol couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or scream. A more ridiculous theory, she'd never heard. Sure, she'd been a little spacey the last couple of weeks, but she wouldn't want that fate for anyone, especially herself. She shivered at the thought. Only twice since the world had gone to shit had she contemplated taking the easy way out: when the outbreak had first started, and when the search for Sophia had entered it's third week. Oh, how she had wanted to give up. So badly had she wished to just opt out, be with her parents and her little girl up in Heaven. But something had stopped her.

The first time, she'd had Sophia. No way in hell would she had left her baby with Ed. She'd seen the way he had looked at her. The way he had touched her. His own daughter! No, she'd had to protect Sophia. And then when her little girl had no longer been with her, she'd found another reason to live. She still didn't completely understand it and wasn't ready to admit it.

Daryl's snarled reply interrupted her again. "What the hell else am I supposed to think? Out here making all this noise with nobody around to save your ass." He took a menacing step toward her, making her want to retreat against the tree at her back. She forced her legs to stay, holding her ground as she'd done the other night with him.

"I am not completely helpless, Daryl Dixon, no matter what you might think." Her grip tightened on the hatchet in her hand as she spoke the words, jerking the weapon up to emphasize her point. Sure, slamming the blade into a walker's skull would have been different than doing so in a tree, but still. She could have handled it. Maybe.

"And so what if that's what I came out here to do anyway?" She asked softly. "I'm just alone and afraid. I'm not your problem."

Daryl's breath froze in his throat, his heart tightening as she threw his words back at him. He could tell she wasn't done. Not nearly. He'd gone off on her the other night, and now it was her turn.

"I have no husband. No daughter. Both of them gone, dead. Taken by those—those monsters!" She lifted her arm, gesturing the dark abyss that was the world. Somewhere out there, probably not far, were more of those things. Her fury gathered as she spoke, her voice strengthening in anger. "I'm alone in this hell on earth. Frankly, I'm glad Ed's gone. He was bad enough to deal with without having the walkers to worry about too. But Sophia? She was all I had left in this bleak, ugly, world. Now she's gone. So why shouldn't I just offer myself to them on a silver platter? What have I got to live for?"

She paused, letting the question fully settle over her. The question had been looming over her for weeks, the answer eluding her for just as long. What _did _she have to live for? The thought of death didn't seem nearly as scary has it had two years ago. Unnerving, but not scary. But behind the lingering fear and uncertainty, she knew she didn't want to die. She wanted to find something good in this world again, something to live for.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she felt more sure of herself. "I'm still scared, but I'm not suicidal, Daryl. I may not have my family anymore, but I've got the group. I've got me. I will live for me and make something of this life."

Carol nodded her head sharply to emphasize her point. She wasn't sure if her admission was more for her benefit or Daryl's, but it felt good to say it anyway.

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, Carol unwilling to say anything else, and Daryl unsure of how to reply. What do you say to follow that? He'd always had a certain with words and women, and hadn't had any problem consoling Carol during the search for Sophia. His confident words of how the little girl would be "just fine" rung in his ears, as did the story of the Cherokee Rose he'd told her. The times when she'd most needed a kind and optimistic word, he hadn't hesitated. But now, when the tragedy had already struck and the words were needed again, he found himself at a complete loss for them.

"Then what were you doing out here?" The question was harsher than he intended, but it needed to be asked. He watched her carefully as she seemed to mull over her answer. Her shoulders fell in defeat, the anger leaving her body in a rush. She shrugged, sighing tiredly.

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Physical exertion seemed like a better option than just lying in my tent." She felt awkward now, standing there holding the hatchet. It didn't seem likely that Daryl was just going to let her go back to hacking away at the tree and she had no desire to go back to not sleeping.

Daryl nodded slowly, letting his eyes drop back down the hatchet. Not saying a word, he held his hand out to her, stepping forward when she hesitated. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't try to stop him from taking the weapon from her. Running his thumb over the cutting edge, he frowned.

"You did a fine job dullin' the hell outta the blade. Come on; if you're gonna keeping going 'American Psycho' on trees with my blades, you're gonna learn how to keep 'em sharp." He jerked his head back towards his tent, where he kept whetstones for the various weapons the group had collected over the months.

Carol followed close behind him, careful to keep her footsteps quiet and not wake the others. Daryl was quick in grabbing two bags from his tent, tossing her one before placing a hand on her back and ushering her back to the treeline. Scraping a whetstone over a blade wasn't the quietest of activities and he nobody else needed to be awake for now. There was a tall, wide tree stump that would act perfectly as a makeshift table for the lesson.

He set the bag down on the grass, rooting through it to pull out two headlights. He strapped one to his head, motioning Carol to do the same with the one he handed her. "Here. Don't need you cuttin' a finger off. Doubt the Doc would just letcha bleed, but we're not takin' that chance." He reached over to help tighten the band, securing the small light. She flipped it on before he pulled away completely, nearly blinding him in the process. Her apologetic laugh and grin were adorable, something he found himself dwelling on for a second too long. Switching on his own head lamp, he handed the hatchet back to her and bent to withdraw a whetstone from the bag at her feet.

From what Carol could tell, it looked like a small brick. Nothing special, but she took it from him anyway. It felt heavy in her hand, the solid weight comforting. She handed it back and listened intently as he explained how to use it.

"It's a simple process, but easy to fuck up if you're not paying attention," Daryl commented, gripping the whetstone firmly. Laying the hatchet flat on the stump, he rested the stone on the edge of the blade. "Always file away from you; you get a smoother edge and you lessen the risk of your hand slipping." He demonstrated quickly, his hand moving deftly over the weapon. He continued the action, stopping to test the sharpness of the blade every so often. It didn't take long to get it to a satisfactory edge.

"Do the other side." She blinked up at him, hoping he wasn't serious. She tried to protest, but he shoved the whetstone into her hand, rolling his eyes as he did so. She held the stone with a vice-like grip, slightly unnerved with him just standing there watching. She turned the hatchet onto the other side, releasing a shaky breath. Setting the stone at the bottom of the blade, she slid it up a little too roughly.

"Gently," he correct her, moving forward to help her. She stiffened slightly as his large body wrapped around hers, his front pressing loosely against her back. The few inches of height he had on her seemed to make a world of difference as he gazed over her shoulder. "Slide it over the blade carefully. Too hard, and you'll make the sides uneven. Means it won't cut clean and it's liable to get stuck in whatever you're trying to hack at." His words slid over her, somehow registering through the mist that had settled over her brain. His hands rested on hers, moving them over the blade swiftly. If he noticed the tension that kept her shoulders and back rigid, he said nothing, for which she was thankful.

With Daryl's hands guiding hers through the task, she slowly began to get the hang of it He was right, it wasn't difficult; even a little relaxing with the monotony. After a while he stopped helping her, keeping his hands overtop hers just in case, but letting her finish it on her own. It was hard to tell exactly when the blade was perfectly sharpened, but she figured it was good enough. Setting down the whetstone, she brought the hatchet up for inspection, Daryl's hands falling away from hers to take the weapon. He ran his finger over the edge, nodding in approval.

"Not bad," he commented, turning the blade over in his hands. "Next time go a little easier on the bottom, but it ain't bad." He handed it back to her, watching her examine the blade. It was obvious she didn't have the slightest clue exactly what he meant, but he admired her willingness to learn. Switching off the headlamp, he jerked it off his hand to toss it back into the bag on the ground. He took Carol's from her to do the same, throwing in the whetstone after it.

He grabbed the bags, turning around to stalk back towards his tent. He hadn't made it very far before he called back over his shoulder. "You comin' or what? I need sleep and I don't wanna be worryin' about you here on your own." Slightly surprised she hurried forward, falling into step with him. "Make sure you keep that close just in case. Always keep it sharp and don't play with it too much; it ain't a toy." He chucked the bags to the ground, bending down to brush past the tent opening to crash. Her soft words and a hand on his back stopped him. He straightened again, turning back to look at her.

"Thank you," Carol said, smiling at him. "For showing me how to do this, I mean. And for letting me keep it." She clutched the hatchet to her chest as she looked at him, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the wooden handle. He only shrugged, brushing off her thanks.

"Just don't break the damn thing, alright? Hard enough to come by as it is." With that, he disappeared into his tent, effectively ending the conversation. She stood there for a moment, just staring at his tent in the dark before retreating to her own. Kicking off her shoes, she settled down on the mass of sleeping bag and blankets that acted as a makeshift bed. The hatchet she set beside her pillow, keeping it safely within reach should she need it. She took a moment to desperately pray that she wouldn't, but she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she would probably have to. It was a terrifying thought, but she would make it. Curling into the blankets, she closed her eyes, a blissfully dreamless sleep overtaking her.


	2. Survivor Angst

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own any of the wonderful characters involved in this story -le sigh-

Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed! I'm simply tickled pink that you all enjoyed it. :D Here's the next installment! It's shorter than I anticipated, but it came to an ending that I really liked. Since this is short, I have started on the next chapter already, and it should be up by Monday at the latest. Yay for faster updating!

Summary: To save Beth from Maggie's overprotective gaze, Carol volunteers to chaperone a walk around the farm. Their outing takes an unpleasant turn when an unexpected guest arrives.

Enjoy!

-Pyrate

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><p>Survivor Angst 0227/2012

God, but the next morning came early. It felt like she'd just closed her eyes when she heard someone fussing around with dishes outside. Carol rolled over in an attempt to go back to sleep, her efforts in vain as her brain lurched up when the smell of instant coffee wafted into her tent. Groaning, she rolled out of her blankets, shuffling quickly to pull on a clean shirt and stuff her feet into her shoes. Lori was waiting with a chipped cup when she pulled the tent flap aside. Carol could have kissed the woman for her courtesy and she took the cup gladly. The instant coffee had been a prized find amongst the adults; they'd nearly fallen to their knees in worship when Glenn had brought back three unopened canisters from a run into town a few days ago. It offered a pleasant sense of normalcy to start each day with Folgers as she'd used to. The caffeine certainly didn't hurt either.

Taking a large gulp of the bitter liquid, she welcomed the familiar burn down her throat. She sighed happily, wrapping her hands around the makeshift mug before turning to Lori.

"Thank you. Any news on Beth?" Word of the girl's attempted suicide had traveled like wildfire in their small camp, putting everyone even more on guard around the Greene family. Maggie was still furious with Andrea and Beth was barely allowed to breathe without her older sister keeping close by. She felt for the girl, but especially for poor Hershel. The man had taken it incredibly hard, retreating into himself after it had first happened. He'd become even more reserved, barely bothering to speak to anyone. He kept Beth in his sight constantly, terrified that if his little girl was left alone for even two minutes she'd try to make a repeat performance.

"Nothing besides what we've already heard. She's still not left alone for a minute, though Maggie's finally letting her go to the bathroom without an escort." Lori shoved a hand through her hair, glancing towards the house. "I hate to say it, but I think Andrea might have been right. I don't agree with what she did, but Beth seems different. Better. I think she really does want to live, she just had to see it." With a sigh, Lori picked up her own coffee up, downing the rapidly cooling drink.

"It'll get easier for her. She just needs time; we all did." Carol set a hand on Lori's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. She got a wry smile from the younger woman, who reached up to squeeze Carol's hand in return.

"Hopefully you're right." Removing her hand, Lori bent down to grab the basket of laundry by her tent. "Would you mind taking this today? Rick and I decided we're going to have "The Talk" with Carl." She handed the basket off to Carol who tucked it under her arm gladly. She'd grown accustomed to doing the chore over the many months and certainly didn't mind doing it now.

"Good luck!" Carol briefly touched Lori's shoulder before heading towards the house. She clutched the basket of laundry tighter as she thought of the conversation the Grimes would soon be having with their son. In many ways, she was glad she didn't have to explain the "birds and the bees". She well remembered the tense hour she'd spent with her own parents talking about sex. She'd been a little older than Carl and Sophia and the entire time her parents were explaining where babies come from she'd wanted to run from the room screaming, fingers plugging her ears. Like any pre-teen, sex had been the last thing she'd wanted to talk to her parents about. She imagined Carl would be the same way, yet she envied the experience. Awkward as it would have been, it was a rite of passage that she had been looking forward to helping her daughter through. But now...

She shook her head, not allowing herself to go down that road again. If she kept thinking about all the things she'd never get to do with Sophia, she'd be a blubbering mess. The laundry would at least keep her occupied for awhile. The house was quiet as she entered and she took a moment to poke around to see if anyone was there. She found Maggie and Beth in the sitting room, the older girl lounging on the loveseat with a book while her sister sat staring wistfully out of the window. She was absently scratching at her wrist, fingers delving beneath the white bandage to pick at the scarring flesh beneath it. They barely registered her presence, so she cleared her throat loudly to let them know she was there. Maggie glanced up and smiled, but Beth remained where she was, the blank expression fixed on her face.

Carol made her way to a room in the back of the house that had been set up as the laundry area. The old washer and dryer Hershel and Patricia had purchased years ago sat idle in the room, as they had for nearly a year. The generators had been rewired to provide power for the rest of the house, leaving them to manually wash everything. She sighed as she set the basket on top of the closed washing machine, missing her old Maytag she'd always harped about. Now, the occasional malfunctions the machine had experienced barely blipped on the radar of all things problematic. She'd love to be able to do laundry just one more time without her fingers turning into shriveled prunes. Those days were long gone, unfortunately.

Grabbing the large bucket that was always full of water, she dumped it into the large basin on the table by the wall, dumping a small amount of laundry detergent into the swirling water. She set the old-fashioned washboard they'd found in the attic into the basin, leaning it against the side before diving into dirty clothes. Dirt and sweat covered nearly everything, turning the water into a murky brown that she had to change several times. Blood stained most of the clothes she recognized as belonging to Daryl, Rick, and Shane. She wanted to cluck her tongue and swat them all over the head as she tossed the clothes into the water. Nothing would get the stains out now, ground in as they were from days of wear.

She scrubbed furiously at each stain, raking the clothes over the washboard until they were as clean as they were going to get. Ringing the water out of them, she piled them back into basket to hang them outside. The basin she left for someone else to dump outside. As she passed the sitting room again, she noticed the girls missing, Maggie's book left abandoned on the small table near the sofa. She furrowed her brow in confusion, but didn't think much of it as she retreated back to their camp. There she saw Maggie talking with Glenn, her sister standing at her side. She caught snippets of their conversation as she hung the laundry on the makeshift line strung between two trees.

"Maggie, please, it's important," Glenn pleaded with her, gripping her hand tightly in his. "It won't take long, I promise."

"Glenn, not now. I want to make sure Beth gets a decent walk around the farm today. She needs the fresh air and I need to spend time with her." Carol understood Maggie's argument, but one look at Beth's face told her the girl had no desire to be watched under her sister's hawk like gaze. She stepped forward as she finished hanging the clothes, nudging the basket over to the tree with her foot.

"Maggie? Why don't you go with Glenn? I can keep Beth company for awhile, and we won't go too far." Carol glanced at Beth, who gave her a relieved smile. Maggie, on the other hand, didn't look convinced. She started to protest when Beth interjected.

"Go on, will you? I promise not to ditch Carol and go drown myself in the swamp." The girl's words were saturated with spite and sarcasm. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, making sure her bandaged wrist was visible. Maggie outwardly flinched at her sister's harsh tone and sighed in defeat.

"Fine, just don't go too far. And be careful." Maggie backed into Glenn, fumbling for his hand as they walked away. She spared a backwards glance at her sister as they did so, to which Beth finally let her guard slip a little and smiled back. Satisfied, Maggie ventured off with Glenn.

"Thanks for that," Beth said as her sister left. "I don't think I could take another day with her treating me like a fragile doll. I am sorry for what I did . . .what I tried to do. I still don't want to get gutted by Walkers, but I don't want to just give up either." It was the first time Beth had really spoken to Carol, and the older woman just listened, letting her talk. She knew how much it helped just to ramble on sometimes. Lord knows she'd done that with Lori and Daryl too many times.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Now, let me just grab some things out of my tent and we'll get going, okay?" She jogged quickly over to the tent, rummaging around to grab her hatchet. The weapon slid easily through the small loop on her pant leg that was meant for hanging tools. Beth stood by the tent as Carol crawled out, once again picking at the white bandage mindlessly. Carol said nothing about it, merely smiling and gesturing to the fields before her. "Shall we?"

They wandered aimlessly for awhile, staying close to the tree line and always keeping the farm house in sight. Neither of them said much, the silence between them comfortable as they walked. Carol hadn't really planned on them discussing anything; they didn't know each other very well and she doubted Beth would want to open up to someone who was still virtually a stranger. She was surprised when she heard the girl's soft voice behind her.

"I'm sorry about your daughter. I know it's been a while, but I wasn't in much of a condition to be expressing my sympathy the last few days." The girl reached up to fiddle with her hair nervously, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. She didn't look up until she saw Carol's feet enter her line of sight. Doing so, the older woman gave her a soft smile, laying a hand on her shoulder carefully.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry about your mother. About what happened at the barn." Carol wrapped the girl in her arms, keeping the hug tight but brief. Beth gave her with a sad smile as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

"There's so much loss now, and the world is so different. I don't know how to live in this one."

Carol mulled the words over, looking for the proper response to them. Taking Beth's hand, she jerked her head towards the woods. "Come on, I want to show you something." She tugged the girl's hand, leading her into the trees. Where they were going, she could have found it blindfolded in the dark. Her feet, having made this trek many a time over the last few weeks, knew the way perfectly. She'd often found herself ending up at the little clearing when just wandering about. It didn't take long to reach. Many of the flowers were missing, torn apart by her hands in fury. But there were a few that remained, and new ones blooming where the others had fallen. Releasing Beth's hand, she bent to pluck a single rose.

"No doubt you've been here before, but do you know the story behind the flowers?" She handed the girl the flower as she asked. Beth took it, her face furrowing in confusion, shaking her head. "Well, these are Cherokee Roses. Daryl told me about them. According to him, when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears during Andrew Jackson's presidency, many of the children died. From starvation, exposure, disease, or they'd just vanish. The grieving mothers cried, their tears falling to the ground. The tribal elders prayed for a sign to give the mothers hope, to lift their spirits. One morning, these roses bloomed where the mothers' tears had fallen." Plucking another rose, she lifted it to her nose, breathing in the fresh scent slowly. Her eyes watered as she remembered Daryl telling her the story and the hope it had given her. The flower, now wilting, still sat on the table where he'd left it.

"It might sound silly, but we've both cried enough for our loved ones. We'll always miss them, and they'll always be with us, no matter where go. These flowers will bloom for them." She turned her head as she felt a hand on her arm. She saw Beth, clutching the rose to her chest with tears in her eyes.

"It's not silly. Thank you." Carol got a genuine smile from the girl, the first she'd seen her give in a long while. She nodded in reply and a movement beyond Beth's head caught her attention. She glanced up, expecting to see one her group or one of the Greenes coming to get them. Trudging through the bundles of knee high grass and flowers was a figure, but one she didn't know. Her heart stopped beating, lurching into her throat.

A walker.

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><p>Just like last time folks, please hit the pretty little "review" button down below! I greatly appreciate your feedback and will take everything into consideration. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!<p> 


	3. Trouble at Camp

Disclaimer! Once again, the only thing I own is the plotline. The fantastic characters belong to Robert Kirkman and the other creators of the comic/show.

A/N: Here's chapter three! I'm so sorry for not getting it up Monday like I wanted to. I had every intention of doing so, and then the last few hundred words just kicked my ass and refused to make it out of my brain. But it's also longer than the others, so hopefully that will make up for it a tad. I can't say when the next chapter will be up, but more likely than not, it will be sometime next week. My university's spring break is next week, so I'll have more spare time to devote to this little guy! Apparently my story now has a male persona. I've been super bad lately and have actually been writing at work-which is great for story productivity, not so much for cataloging productivity- so it may even be sooner.

Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing! I squeal with delight every time I get a little message and I'm so glad you're liking it. Enjoy this chapter!

-Pyrate

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><p>Trouble at Camp 0303/2012

Carol fell to her knees, pulling Beth sharply down with her. The walker wasn't headed straight for them, and thankfully hadn't seen them. Yet. She clamped a hand over Beth's mouth, gesturing towards the walker with a nod of her head. Beth turned her body carefully to glance back, her eyes widening in fear. She whimpered quietly, falling back onto her ass in front of Carol. Keeping her voice low, Carol whispered into Beth's ear, still keeping a hand over her mouth.

"Beth, listen to me carefully. I'm going to draw it away if I can. As soon as you can, you run like hell and don't you dare look back. You hear me?" She waited until Beth nodded in acknowledgement. "It'll be okay. Just remember to run." She let her hand fall away from Beth's mouth, gesturing for her to stay down. Keeping low, Carol moved carefully through the brush, making sure she was always behind the walker. Her eyes stayed glued to it as her mind frantically tried to figure out what to do. Her heart raced, thudding powerfully in her chest. Grabbing a rock, she hurled it in the direction of the walker. It smacked against a tree, capturing its attention. It stopped and turned slowly, its empty gaze sweeping over the surrounding area. Carol stayed safely among the grass, her entire body on edge. It was nearly impossible to steady her breathing as adrenaline pumped through her veins.

Glancing towards Beth, she caught the girl's eye and gestured sharply for her to get the hell out. Her eyes flicked between the walker and Beth, watching for any change in the walker's direction. She saw Beth carefully get to her feet, crouching low as she inched towards the safety of the trees. Carol nodded in encouragement, grateful for the deadened senses of the walker as Beth slowly disappeared.

When she was far enough into the woods, Beth broke into a dead run for the house. Her vision tunneled, focusing solely on the break in the trees where the promise of safety lay. Her legs carried her swiftly and for a split second she wondered why she'd never bothered to join the small track team at her school. If she had just pretended a walker had been after her, she would have been a star athlete. She broke out of the forest triumphantly, plowing straight into Daryl. They toppled in a heap of limbs and curses as Daryl quickly maneuvered the crossbow in his hand so he wouldn't impale either one of them. Beth scrambled to the side,, tossing a string of dead squirrels off of her.

"Shit, girl!" Daryl shot at her as he picked himself up off the ground. "The hell you doin'?" Slinging the crossbow over his chest, he gathered the squirrels to wipe the dust and dirt off the carcasses. He ought to make her clean the damn things, seeing as how she'd been the one to bowl him over without warning. He turned to suggest she do just that when he saw the look on her face. She looked downright terrified and about ready to piss herself. And she was alone? He found it hard to believe her crazy ass sister would just let her wander off on her own.

"Carol..." His eyes narrowed dangerously as she uttered the woman's name. He stared down at her, nudging her leg with his. "...walker."

His stomach churned at the word. He dropped the squirrels, jerking the crossbow into his hands once again. "Where?" His fingers tightened on the tiller of the weapon, his knuckles going white. "Where?" He barked again when she didn't answer. If Carol died because this little whisp of a girl couldn't get the words out, Hershel was going to have another body to bury.

Thankfully, Beth pointed into the forest. "Clearing with the flowers," she ground out between labored breaths. He stepped over her, bolting into the forest. He knew exactly where to go and wasted no time in getting there.

Carol gradually moved forward, crouched down to move quickly and quietly. She was still positioned behind the walker, which was still making a futile attempt to find the source of the noise it had heard earlier. Letting out a shaky breath, she sent up a silent prayer to God that this would be fast and easy. It would be the first walker she took down on her own. She removed the hatchet from its place at her side, clutching the handle tightly. She needed to plan this carefully and properly, making sure she could successfully plunge the weapon into the creature's skull. The short amount of time she had was taken away as her foot snapped a twig sharply. She cursed silently as the walker stopped and proceeded to turn around. It caught sight of her in its peripherals and immediately perked up with a growl. She didn't give it time to attack as her own instincts kicked in. Straightening, she rushed forward. She stopped just in front of the walker, using both hands to grip the handle of the hatchet and swing it at the walker's head, putting her entire body behind the swing. The blow landed with a thud, slicing through rotting flesh and bone to settle home.

Blood and brain matter splashed her face and neck as the walker fell. She flinched, but the disgust was replaced by an overwhelming sense of pride as she looked down at the corpse she had felled. The hatchet stuck out at an odd angle as a blood flowed over it, ruddy and brown from weeks of decay. Setting her foot on the head of the walker, she wrenched the hatchet out of its head. She stumbled back slightly, her body heaving as she sucked in a breath. Her heart was pounding, terror fueled adrenaline still ran through her body, and she was covered in blood. So she laughed. For the first time in weeks, she genuinely laughed as relief surged through her.

Her head jerked up at the sound of leaves crunching, her grip tightening on the hatchet once more as something raced towards her. She prepared herself for another walker as Daryl broke through the brush, crossbow at the ready. He came to a quick stop when he saw her, taking in the scene before him. All he could do was blink, his gaze moving from Carol, to the hatchet, to the walker at her feet. Cocking his head to the side, he walked around he corpse, eying the large gash in its head. He gave Carol a sly grin as he nudged the body with its foot. It didn't respond, being thoroughly dead.

"I'll be damned. Guess you did have it in you after all." Daryl slung the crossbow back over his chest, grabbing the rag out of his back pocket and it handing it to her. She took it gratefully, hastily wiping the blade with it. Making at face at the ruined rag, she stuffed it in her pocket. Doubtless it would have to be burned with the body.

"Beth made it back okay, then?" She slid the cleaned hatchet back through the loop in her pants, its weight solid and reassuring.

Daryl scoffed and nodded, jerking his head back towards the farm house. "Blondie came flying like a bat outta hell, nearly plowed me over. Told me you were out here. Help me with this." He moved to stand in front of the walker, bending down to take hold of its arms. He gestured for her to take the legs and waited as she took position. Together they hefted the walker up and started walking back. It was slightly awkward maneuvering, but they managed. They body was half wasted away and barely weighed anything now.

"You did good," Daryl said as they shuffled along. "But what were you doing out here?" Daryl heaved the body up over a stump, the muscles of his arms tightening.. Carol didn't miss the flex of his biceps as he did.

"Er, Beth and I were out walking. We started talking about Sophia and about her mother. I thought it might help her to see the roses and hear about them, like when you told me." She didn't have a chance to say more as they exited the forest. Lori, Rick, Maggie, and Glenn were racing towards them, the men brandishing guns. Maggie instantly threw her arms around Carol, causing the older woman to drop her hold on the walker's legs. She grunted with the impact, surprised at Maggie's show of affection.

"Thank God! Beth told us what happened and that you gave her the chance to get out safely. Are you alright? Are you bit? Injured?" Maggie's words flew at Carol, not letting her get a word in edgewise. As quickly as she had embraced her, Maggie let her go, looking over her quickly. Her eyes widened at the blood on Carol's face, timid fingers seeking out to touch it.

"I'm fine. Walker blood, not mine." She smiled reassuringly at Maggie before inching the girl away carefully. She made a move to pick up the walker legs to help Daryl, but Rick set a hand on her shoulder before she could. He holstered his gun, then gave a quick smile before looking at his wife.

"Lori? Take Carol back on to the house; I'll help Daryl with this." He grabbed the walkers legs, heaving the body up. Lori took Carol's hand, giving it a squeeze before pulling her along. Carol looked back at Daryl with a questioning glance, but he only nodded slightly towards the house before leaving with Rick, Glenn trailing behind them. So she followed Lori and Maggie back to clean up. It felt weird to be mothered as they fussed over her. She was so used to fulfilling the role of caregiver that she wasn't used to someone taking care of her.

Finally, Maggie broke the awkward tension that had grown in the kitchen. "What was it like?" The girl swiped a warm cloth over Carol's brow, cleaning the blood away. Her eyes were fixed on Carol's face, gleaming with a fascinated curiosity.

She thought about lying at first, saying it had been easy to take down the walker. But there was no sense in glorifying the experience, or herself; she'd nearly pissed herself in fear, and she wasn't ashamed of that. So she shrugged and blew out a slow breath.

"It was terrifying. I've seen so many walkers, you think I'd be used to them by now. But I've never seen one on my own. Someone has always been with me, so I've never had to deal with them." She turned her head to the side as Maggie swiped the cloth over her neck. It was slightly disturbing to see the material saturated red when Maggie pulled it away. Her skin was slowly starting to feel clean again, though she was tempted to scrub down with a bleached pumice stone. "Beth was the main reason I managed to keep calm, I think. She's so young, and so small! I wanted to keep her safe."

_Because I couldn't keep Sophia safe._

The unspoken comment hung in the air, but Maggie completely passed over it as she knelt in front of Carol. Her eyes watered, a tear slipping down her cheek as she gripped the older woman's hands. The sheer gratitude in her eyes threatened to have Carol in tears.

"I can't thank you enough. None of us can." Her voice broke as she spoke. Excusing herself quietly, Maggie hurried from the room, leaving Lori and Carol to sit in silence.

"It's good to see you like this, Carol. Up, excited. It's the most alive I've seen you in awhile. I know it's been hard since Sophia died and we were all worried that you wouldn't come back to us." Lori reached into the laundry basket sitting on the table, rifling through the clothes to pull out a fresh shirt. She handed it to Carol before leaning back against the counter, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Carol played with the shirt, running her hands over the fabric as she mulled over Lori's words. She couldn't argue them, but was sick to death of what they implied. "I don't think 'excited' is the right word, but I'm definitely more here than I was." She stood, stripping off the soiled shirt because she couldn't stand to have it touching her skin any longer. She ran the cloth over her arms quickly, voiding herself of any lingering blood. She jerked the clean shirt over her head, feeling ten times better.

"People have been avoiding me for weeks, or treating me like a china doll. I know I've been distant, but tiptoeing around me isn't going to help. My daughter died. _I_ didn't. I'm still here." Carol grabbed the bloody shirt from the table, balling up in her fist. "Thank you for the help," she said tersely as she stalked out of the house.

Lori watched her go, slightly flabbergasted at the unexpected outburst. It was refreshing to see honestly. Carol had been so . . . lifeless the last few weeks. Granted, the woman had never been utterly exciting, but she'd always been kind and sweet. Lori genuinely liked her, but had never felt comfortable around her since they'd found Sophia. Her display of emotion now was a promising sight, giving Lori hope that they'd finally gotten the women back, and stronger than they'd had her.

Carol sucked in a deep breath as soon as she made it outside, the fresh air stabilizing her instantly. She started to wander back to her tent, half wanting to curl back into her blankets and sleep again. Dale waylaid her before she made it, calling out to her from his place on top of the RV.

"Carol!" He waved her over, leaning over the side of the RV to grin down at her. As usual, his rifle was slung over his shoulder just in case and his hat pulled down low to protect his eyes from the sun. She smiled back up at him, giving a small wave.

"'Morning Dale. What can I do for you?" She tucked the shirt further under her arm, careful to keep the bloodied garment out of sight. No doubt he'd already heard the story of what happened, but she didn't need to worry him any more than necessary.

"Heard you and Hershel's youngin got into a bit of commotion earlier. Everything turn out okay?" She appreciated the genuine concern in the man's eyes and she smiled back at him.

"We're both fine, Dale. Got out of trouble almost as fast as we got in." She couldn't keep the hint of pride from her voice as she said it.

"Glad to hear it! What happened, anyway?"

"Lady bagged herself a walker's what happened." Daryl interjected before she could answer. She smiled wryly as she turned to see him walking up. He smirked back at her before looking up at Dale. "Scrambled his brains nicely with a hatchet. Wasn't pretty." If she didn't know better she would've sworn that was pride she heard in his voice.

"Good on you!" Dale laughed and threw a fist in the air to emphasize his excitement. He winked at Carol before settling back up on his perch.

"Speaking of your walker friend, come on." Daryl jerked his head towards a pillar of smoke curling up from behind the farmhouse. She shot a questioning look at him, her stomach churning. She had sickening notion of what was burning and had absolutely no desire to see the rotting flesh smolder. Shaking her head, she took a step back, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her tent. Daryl gave her a hard look, holding his hand out.

"Come on. You killed the sonuvabitch, you gotta see this through. Trust me, it'll help." He kept his voice soft, his tone firm yet gentle. He knew this wasn't going to be easy for her, watching the walker burn. Hell, it wasn't easy on anyone. He'd killed dozens of the things by now, burned even more of them. Decomposing flesh wasn't pretty, and thrown into a fire was even worse. And the smell….God above, the smell was something awful. He still got a little queasy whenever they burned bodies. Yet every time, there was a satisfying sense of closure, knowing that they'd taken down another threat and lived to tell about it. The nagging thought that even as they took down two walkers, four more rose up was always in the back of his mind, but wasn't nothing he could do about that. As long as he was kicking and had even the most basic weapon, he sure as hell would keep fighting.

Carol hardly looked like she trusted his words, but she took his hand all the same. Her palm was clammy, but he held tight anyway, tugging her forward to get her walking. He dropped her hand when she finally did, falling into step beside her. She wrapped her arms around herself as he'd seen her do so many times, a physical and metaphorical barrier against the sizzling horror she was sure to see in a few moments. Unsure of what to do with his own hands, he shoved them into his pockets.

"I meant to ask you earlier, 'fore Lori and Maggie dragged you off. How'd you hold up? During, I mean," Daryl asked, almost shyly. He wasn't good with more touchy-feely side of conversations, but he was genuinely curious.

Carol just shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on the smoke ahead. "Fine, I guess. Didn't really give myself a chance to think much, except about what needed to be done."

"That's good, keeping yourself focused like that. Helps take your mind off what you're really doin' and freakin' out."

She fell quiet as they approached the fire pit that had been dug weeks ago. Built solely for the purposes of disposing of walkers, it was in use far too often in her opinion. For the longest time, they hadn't come across any, and suddenly, they were burning bodies every week. She made sure to stay far away when they did. The smell—the same one that was filling her nostrils now—was incredibly difficult to bear. It made looking at the fire almost impossible; she could imagine the tissue and muscle of the walker breaking down just fine without having the exact mental image of it. Her eyes refused to look past her feet.

Daryl set his fingers under chin, forcibly lifting her head so she would look at him. "It'll help," he repeated. His hand dropped away, brushing her arm for a fleeting moment before falling back to his side. "Think of it this way: what if this geek was the one that got Sophia? Wouldn't you want to see the fucker burn, then?" He got a rise out of her then as her eyes widened with the possibility that he could be right. Her eyes flew to the fire, gluing themselves to the body inside.

The flesh, discolored to begin with, darkened considerably in the flames. The dead flesh didn't blister, but sloughed off in large, severely blackened chunks to reveal with rotting muscle tissue beneath. The flames licked at the exposed meat, charring it slowly. It was a disturbing sight, yet she couldn't look away. She inched closer until she felt the heat on her own skin, morbidly fascinated with the process. Pulling the bloodied rag out of her pocket, she balled it up with the shirt still tucked under her arm and threw them into the fire. There was an odd sense of relief as she discarded the flimsy pieces of material. Backing away again, she sat on the ground to settle in and watch the body burn.

(A/N: Fun, educational factoid time! The above paragraph isn't entirely correct. The dead flesh of the walker would NOT burn like this. It would actually pretty much just char and turn to ash, at least in an incinerator built for cremations. With a simple fire like the one the group has produced, the body would more or less cook to a nice extra crispy crunch. For imagery purposes, I've taken a few artistic licenses with the laws of physics. So yeah, anyway!)

"You were right," she said as Daryl sat beside her. "Thank you." He only grunted and shrugged in response.

They sat there together, just watching the fire for what seemed like hours. Already decomposed as it had been, the walker didn't take nearly as long to break down as a fresh body would have. It was starting to crisp up when Carol spoke again.

"It was the roses, I think. That kept me so focused." She glanced at Daryl, who pulled at blades of grass while she spoke, just listening. "When I saw the walker coming, I was so scared that something would happen to that little field." Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms tight around them. "It would have been wrong, to let it taint that place. So I killed it." As she spoke, she withdrew the hatchet from its place at leg. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the wood of the handle. Blood still splattered the blade, with small ringlets of material that she really didn't want to think about clinging to it.

Daryl scoffed at the remorse in her tone, yanking up a patch of weeds at his foot. "Thing was already dead. You just put it down. Kept it from killin' anybody else."

Chuckling softly, Carol shook her head. "I don't feel bad for doing it, Daryl. It felt…," she paused, searching for the appropriate word. "Good. It felt good. Like I was helping."

"You did." Daryl inched over on the ground until he was close enough to let his shoulder brush hers. "Blondie got away because of what you did."

He wanted to say more, but was interrupted by Lori calling them in for dinner. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off. He waited as she slid the hatchet back into place before helping her to her feet, raising an eyebrow at the current state of the weapon. Glancing around, he made sure nobody was around before pulling her into a quick, tight hug. He felt her gasp from the unexpected embrace and place her hands at his hips. "Glad you're okay," he muttered in her ear before releasing her quickly and heading towards the farm house.

"And make sure you clean that thing!" He called back behind him

Carol stood there a moment, completely shocked. She'd seen Daryl show emotion before, especially when it came to Merle, but she'd never seen him express that emotion so physically. It was odd, but wonderfully so. The skin above her ear tingled from where his hot breath had brushed across it. She walked to the house in somewhat of a trance, completely unsure of how to react. Her cheeks were flushed as she entered the farm house. She took a plate of food from Lori, giving the younger woman a shaky smile as she did. The only seat available at the crowded table was next to Beth and the young girl waved her over.

The meal went quickly, everyone cordially chatting about this and that. Carol interjected every so often, not terribly focused on the conversation at hand. When they were done, she helped Lori and Maggie clear away the dishes. The sun was barely starting to set on the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant mix of oranges, reds, and purples. She stood on the porch, leaning against a pillar when she heard the screen door slam.

"Carol?" She turned, not expecting to hear Beth's voice behind her. The girl leaned against the door, plucking at the hem of her shirt nervously. "I just wanted to thank you, again. For what you did today." Beth's voice was soft, timid. "And was maybe wondering if you wouldn't mind going for another walk with me tomorrow. Hopefully without the walker this time."

Carol smiled and nodded, even laughing at the poor attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure, honey. That'd be great. Maybe we can go down to the lake, pick some berries if the animals haven't gotten to them yet." The smile that lit Beth's face was a wonder to see. She had genuinely delighted the girl, who stepped forward to wrap Carol in a quick hug. Carol wrapped her own arms around the girl tightly before sending her back inside. So many people were hugging her today. It was nice, and something she wouldn't mind getting used to. Reaching a hand up, she wrapped her fingers around the slim cross that hung at her throat before heading back to camp for the night.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please feel free to hit the little submit button and give me whatever feedback you like, including anything you'd like to see happen in future chapters. ;D<p> 


	4. Bothering Carol

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the amazing Walking Dead series. That honour belongs to Robert Kirkman. I own portions of the storyline, but not all, as you'll see later in this chapter.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As always, it was wonderful to see everyone's comments about what you all thought. Please keep sending them in! Also, I'm so sorry for how long I kept this. Spring Break actually didn't give me any free time to work on this, so I got pretty much all of it done Friday at work. Plus, the ending was a bitch to write, for reasons you'll soon find out.

Enjoy!

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><p>Carol's eyes snapped open in the darkness of her tent. Seconds later, she wanted to scream in frustration. Once again, she was awake for the day with no hope of going back to sleep. She rolled over with a groan, slamming her fist into her pillow angrily. For weeks she'd been waking up in the middle of the night for no reason and always at the same time. 2 AM. The first week or so, she'd checked the old digital watch stuffed in her bag and each time it had read same. After a while she'd stopped bothering to even check. For whatever terrible reason, her brain had decided that sleeping past two in the morning was completely pointless. She did not agree.<p>

Unfortunately, she didn't have much of a say in the matter. Resigning herself to an early morning, she groped blindly for her bag in the dark. Various knick knacks she'd collected over the months clinked and clanked as she found what she was looking for. She twisted the knob on the small electric lamp, illuminating the tent with a dim light. Grabbing the book that rested by her pillow, she opened it to the page she'd left off on last night. She'd been ecstatic to find Patricia's rather large library, even more so when the woman had kindly let her borrow them. Several of the romance and horror novels she'd already run through quickly, delighted for the chance to escape back into fiction for however brief a time she could.

She lost herself in the book quickly, adventuring alongside the characters as the real world fell away.

Daryl noticed the light as he trudged back to his tent from taking a piss in the woods. It was faint, but still completely noticeable in the dead of night. At first, he was tempted to just go back to sleep and not worry about it. It was Carol's tent, but it wasn't like it was a beacon for help. Woman was probably knitting or some stupid shit like that. Nothing for him to worry about, yet he walked over anyway, keeping quiet as he did so. He couldn't see well through the material of the tent and could barely make out a humanesque shape. She seemed to be lying down, doing who knows what. He raked his fingers against the tent, calling her name softly.

"Carol? You in there?" He paused, listening. He heard a shuffle, a muttered curse, then nothing. In the tent, all Carol had heard was the flutter of something from the outside. Turning to look, she'd seen the large shadow looming, made even larger by the light from the lantern. It was impossible to make out anything else, so naturally she assumed she had a most unwelcome visitor of the dead variety. She snatched her hatchet from its place beside her pillow, where it stayed at all times when she was in her tent.

Clutching the weapon tightly, Carol took a deep breath and jerked the zipper on the opening flap down. The material fell away and she drew her arm back to prepare to land a blow. She nearly had a heart attack when she saw Daryl jump away, throwing his hands up in an act of surrender. Her eyes wide, she whispered angrily at him.

"What in _God's_ name are you doing?" She dropped the hatchet immediately, letting it fall to the ground.

"Me?" Daryl winced at his loud, shrill tone. He tried again, this time in a controlled whisper. "I'm not the one attacking people for no reason!" The glare she leveled on him was a weapon in and of itself. If looks could kill, he'd be walker kibble. Had he been close enough, no doubt she would have smacked him upside the head.

"_I'm_ not the one sneaking around in the middle of the night, making ominous noises. I thought you were a walker, for goodness sake. Next time, be loud," she chastised, running a hand over her chest. Frowning, she gestured around absently. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"I saw your light on. Figured I'd make sure everything was okay since I was up. Ain't you supposed to be asleep?" Daryl approached the tent slowly, half afraid she was going to try to attack him again. Doing so, he got a better look inside her tent and the book she'd been reading lying open on her pillow, though he couldn't see exactly was it was from where he stood. Well at least she hadn't been knitting.

"I'd love to be, but I can't. I woke up and here I am, so I thought I would read until the sun came up." Carl sat back on her heels, regarding Daryl carefully. He gave her an odd look as he heard her reason for being awake. He thought back to the incident a few days ago, when he'd caught her attacking the tree. She hadn't slept then, neither.

"This a common thing for you? Insomnia or whatever the hell it was called?" He watched her as she raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

"Never used to be, but ever since Sophia went missing, I just wake up at two in the morning and can't sleep anymore," she explained and shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know the psychological reason and frankly didn't care. "The one night that I've been able to sleep again is the night you caught me 'playing Psycho' with your hatchet." She smiled at the memory of his words. "I was exhausted by the time we were done."

"Right. I've got some of Merle's stash left, if you want. Pills in there'll knock your ass out good for the whole night." Daryl jerked his thumb back towards his tent. He was pretty sure there were actual sleeping pills mixed in with the assortment of pain killers and prescriptions for the smorgasbord of venereal diseases his brother had so fondly collected. Carol smiled, but shook her head, picking up the discarded book.

"Thanks, but I'll be okay. I've got Sherlock Holmes to keep me company a while." She hugged the book to her chest, keeping the colourful cover facing towards Daryl. She saw his face brighten for a split second; the recognition in his eyes passed so quickly, she almost wondered if she'd imagined it.

"Yeah, cause a ragin' sociopath's a hell of a lot more fun than zombies roamin' around." Daryl's tone was light, half sarcastic and half serious. She grinned as she turned the book over in her hands. He _had_ recognized it! "Dust and Shadow: An Account of the Ripper Killings by Dr. John H. Watson" had jumped out at her from Patricia's shelves. She'd read countless Sherlock Holmes' novels, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and other authors over the years, and had grown to absolutely love the snarky, borderline psychotic detective.

"Big fan of Jack the Ripper, are we, Mr. Dixon? Or of Holmes?" She smirked at him, handing the book over when he held his hand out. She watched him turn it over, running his fingers gently, almost lovingly, over the cover. She'd never seen him handle anything so carefully except for his bow.

"Read a few books in my time. More'n one of 'em happened to be Sherlock Holmes. What of it?" He immediately got defensive, preparing to be ridiculed like he used to be. Merle and his friends had constantly ragged on him for liking those "fag books" in high school. After a while, he given up on reading them in the house, switching instead to motorcycle and porn mags. Anything to stop the abuse. He didn't need Carol judging and poking fun at him after all these years. Not that he gave two shits, but still. . .

Carol just rolled her eyes and scooted around in the tent to make room for him. "Put the claws away, Daryl. I ain't making fun of you. Just surprised is all," she commented as he hesitantly crawled inside. "Patricia has an entire set of Holmes novels that you might not have any interest in. Just saying."

He pretended not to care, keeping his expression hard and unchanging, but made a mental note to check her claim out. Maybe. When he was done cleaning his bow. And a whole bunch of other manly shit. "My mom," he finally said, fingering the book again. "She liked 'em, turned me onto 'em when I was in high school. Hounds of the Baskervilles was her favourite of the originals, but she liked these things too, the Holmes versus whoever the hell else. This one," he held the book up, as if she hadn't just been reading it, "was the one I sent her for her birthday, not two weeks 'fore all this shit went down. Almost sent her the zombie one. Talk about your fucking situational humour."

He frowned at how much he'd just said and shut up quick as he handed the book back. Shuffling around in the small tent, he maneuvered so he was laying down, one leg bent and propped up. It wasn't hard to tell how uncomfortable he was. Hoping to lighten the mood, Carol said quietly. "It was my grandfather for me, who got me interested in them. For my high school graduation he gave me a gorgeous collector's edition set with every Holmes novel Doyle ever wrote. They were his father's, and one of his prized possessions." She recalled the day fondly, remembering how overjoyed she'd been unwrapping those books.

"I cherished them until Ed sold them off to pay a debt he owed his bookie. 'We're married', he said. Anything that belonged to me belonged to him, and he didn't want me 'filling my head with such garbage and gettin' any newfangled ideas.' God, I mourned those books something fierce. They were the most precious things to me before Sophia was born. They were my escape from Ed when he was drunk, and the only reminder I had of my grandfather. And he treated them like the were worthless—there for him to use at his pleasure."

_Just like you._

The words, unspoken, screamed in her head. Her jaw clenched hard, her hands tightening around the book as she wished they could have around her good-for-nothing late husband's neck.

Daryl watched her strangle the life out of the book with the same ferocity with which he'd watched her smash in her husband face. Lazy bum hadn't done shit around the camp and nobody had shed a tear.

"Shoulda let Shane or me at him long before the walkers," he said gruffly, watching her carefully. He was glad she didn't try to defend him, but laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, I should have. But it's done. No point in dwelling on it now." She shook her head, driving away the taint of Ed's memory. She caught Daryl's eye, holding contact as she reached a hand out towards him. She wanted to touch him, to have that physical contact with him and thank him for everything he'd done. The moment she tried, he spooked. Pushing himself up and away, the comfortable moment between them was lost. The walls were back up and the closed off, surly Daryl Dixon was back.

"Enough of that touchy feely bullshit. Just don't go gossiping to the group about me. I'm going to bed." He scrambled out of the tent, sucking in a lung full of fresh air. Damn, he was glad that was over. Sitting there with her, baring his soul or whatever, had been just weird. Almost unnatural. And listening to her talk about her dead husband like that, seeing her relive the hurt and the pain he'd put her through had hit way too close to home. He'd wanted to…Fuck, he'd wanted to _comfort_ her. He was a Dixon, and Dixon's didn't do comfort. All they knew how to do was hurt more. He'd seen his daddy do it to his momma too many times to count and Merle do it to an endless string of women. Even he hadn't ever held a stable relationship. It was always about getting in, getting laid, and getting out. Always had been, and the end of the world wouldn't change that. He squared his jaw as he stalked back to his tent, resolving to remember that. He wouldn't let some stupid bitch get in his head like that. Hell no.

Still, he caught himself glancing back at her tent as he ducked down to enter his. She sat there looking back at him, smiling sadly before zipping the tent flap shut. The light stayed on; no doubt she'd go back to reading her fucking book until the sun rose on another miserable day in the apocalypse. His grumbling continued as he collapsed into his blankets.

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><p>He'd been avoiding her all day. Any attempt to talk to him had been thwarted by claims that he had to clean his crossbow. She figured he'd be committing idolatry pretty soon; the damned thing had to be close to godliness by now. He was refusing to even look at her, a fact that was beginning to piss her off. But there was little she could do about it. She wasn't terribly surprised at how he was acting, especially given how he'd all but run from her tent that morning. He'd retreated from her, that much was plain to see, and she just wished she knew how to stop it.<p>

One person who wasn't avoiding her, but instead doing quite the opposite, was Beth. All day the girl had been right by her side, helping and chattering away whenever she could. Around everyone else, Beth was still shy and quiet, but around Carol? Good gracious, she was a completely different person. She supposed it was understandable given yesterday's circumstances, but it couldn't be healthy for the girl to cling that hard. Plus, it was just plain exhausting being around that much energy. Now, thankfully, Beth was content enough to just sit on the porch with Carol and read quietly. The rest of the farm had the same quiet in mind; it was nice, peaceful even, if she dared go that far.

The slam of the porch door interrupted that peace, jarring her out of her thoughts. She looked up in time to see Daryl flying out of the house, a white squarish shape tucked under her arm. He didn't spare her a passing glance, unsurprisingly. What was surprising was that Patricia came to the door behind him, smiling at his retreating form. He shot her a fleeting, grateful smile before hurrying off. Carol turned to Patricia, raising an eyebrow in question. The other woman simply nodded her head towards the book in Carol's lap and Carol's eyebrow climbed just the teeniest bit higher. Well then. This was an interesting development.

Oblivious to the moment of glorious revelation between Carol and Patricia, Beth piped up from the other rocking chair. "Carol? Can we go down to the river like you promised?" The look of hope and excitement on the girl's face was too much to refuse. With a defeated sigh, Carol closed her book, saying goodbye to Mary Ann Nichols as she met her gruesome and untimely demise.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Go grab a basket from inside for the berries and meet me by my tent, okay?" The girl scurried off excitedly, pushing past Patricia. Carol used the opportunity to head back to her tent, stash the book quickly, and intercept Daryl. She planted herself in front of him, forcing him to stop and acknowledge her. His head jerked up from where it had been examining the book in his hands.

"Damn, woman. What happened to 'be loud, huh?" He scowled at her, tucking the book back under his arm. Uncomfortable, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. What the hell did she want now? She'd been hounding him all day, pestering him into talking to her. Unable to deal with all those . . .feelings he'd been making obvious bullshit excuses about his crossbow. She'd shot him a dirty look or two, but hadn't questioned him. Now, there was nowhere to run without causing some kind of scene, something he very much wanted to avoid doing. Carol merely shrugged, brushing off his question to move on to her own. "I see you took our chat to heart and paid Patricia's library a visit." She could practically see him bristling, every defense mechanism in his body rearing up to prepare to fire back. "Down, boy. I'm not going to make fun of you; I'm just curious is all. Can I at least know which one it is?" She ignored whatever explicative he mumbled under his breath as he reluctantly showed her.

Hound of the Baskervilles. And from the looks of the cover, it had to be a second or third edition. It was in pristine condition, just like all Patricia's books. Like herself, Patricia loved books and kept every one in her collection with perfect care.

As promised, Carol didn't make fun of him. She simply smiled and said "Good choice," which possibly unnerved him even more as his grip tightened on the book. As awkward as this was, he knew deep down that she wouldn't say anything to anyone else. She was an odd duck, but true to her word, and she knew what this book meant to him. Thanks to his dumb ass being all sentimental.

"Thanks. President of your fan club's here," he commented, jerking his head in the direction behind Carol. Blondie came running up from the house, a large wicker basket slung over her skinny little shoulder. He'd seen how tightly Beth had attached herself to Carol over the last day and a half, chalking it up to the walker event yesterday. It was textbook, really. Carol saved her life and Beth was so grateful that she'd formed an instantaneous bond with the older woman. In her eyes, Carol could do no wrong. He found himself thinking how nice that must be, to have someone view you with such unadulterated trust and faith. Truly, he did know better; rose coloured glasses in this world only served one purpose. They got you killed. Fast.

Carol turned slightly to greet the girl, running a hand over the blonde hair affectionately. "We're heading down to the river for berries before the animals snatch the last of them." She quirked an eyebrow as Daryl eyed her carefully, his eyes immediately scanning her body for a weapon. "Don't worry," she said before he could, "I'm taking my hatchet.

Somewhat reassured and feigning apathy, Daryl nodded sharply and turned to head back to his tent. Carol watched him go for a moment before clapping Beth on the shoulder and smiling at her. They stopped a moment so she could grab her hatchet from her tent and tell Dale they were off. The older man was all smiles that he'd have fresh berries for after supper but as always, cautioned them to be careful.

"Don't be out too late; sun'll be down in just a few hours and time can get away from you easily out in those woods." Carol promised they'd be back in time for supper and finally, they left. Beth led them to the river easily enough, lighting up when she saw the bushes still covered with ripe red berries. They both stripped off socks and shoes to wade in the water, thankful for the cool rush over their feet. They didn't talk much, focusing on the task at hand, but inevitably, Beth called over to her.

"Carol? Will you tell me about your life? Before all this?" From Carol's startled reaction, Beth could tell she'd caught the woman completely off guard. It was probably pointless to ask now since the world was so different, but she was genuinely curious. Was the woman she knew now was the one Carol had always been? Or had her life been drastically different? After a moment's hesitation, Carol cleared her throat and answered.

"My life was . . .boring. I was married, played the role of meek housewife pretty well. My husband wasn't the easiest man to get along with, but I had Sophia, so it wasn't all bad." She desperately wanted to keep everything as brie as possible, not wanting to dredge up old memories that were better left undisturbed. "Then everyone started getting sick and walkers popped up everywhere. We left everything. Just picked up and left, met others trying to get out, and formed a group. My husband, Ed, died a few weeks ago when walkers attacked our camp outside of Atlanta." Reaching up, Carol fiddled with the cross at her neck, fingering it as she always did when nervous or upset.

Beth just nodded slowly, absorbing the information. This was the first mention she'd heard of Ed, but just the tense way in which Carol spoke of him had her breathing a sigh of relief that the man hadn't made it to the farm with them. She could just imagine him being a complete terror to anyone and everyone around.

"It was boring around here too, but in a good way, you know? I had my family, work around the farm, school." She chuckled at the thought of the last one. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'd love nothing more than to be sitting in English again. Or even Biology, if it meant all this was just a bad dream."

Carol smiled at that, recalling Sophia being the same way after seeing her first few walkers. The dreaded math classes hadn't seemed half bad then; she'd even caught her daughter mentioning in evening prayers that if everything just went back to normal, she'd happily go to school forever if that's what it took. It had been the sweetest thing, but she hadn't been able to stop from bursting into laughter once she was far enough away. To be so young and hopeful, again, especially in such a world as this one.

After that, they fell into a comfortable silence, only interrupted every so often by another random question from Beth. It was only when it was getting harder to find the berries did they notice it was really starting to get dark. Remembering her promise to Dale, Carol called to Beth to start packing up. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck out here in the dark. It wouldn't be terribly difficult to find their way back to the farm without the sunlight, but it would be creepy as hell in those woods. Just in case, she slid her hatchet out from its place at her side, gripping it tightly as they headed back.

Back at camp, the group slowly began assembling for supper. Patricia and Lori had spent the better part of the early evening prepping and cooking-well, certainly Patricia had. Lori had spent most of it working, but hadn't spared breath on complaining about Andrea's lack of assistance in the kitchen. Patricia, who had finally had enough, decided it was either move Lori away from the window where the RV (and subsequently Andrea) was visible, or kill the Grimes woman herself. She'd opted for the former to save herself the trouble of explaining to Rick why her cleaver had somehow lodged itself in his wife's back. She wiped her hands on her dish towel as she called for Beth to come set the table.

"Beth? Sweetheart?" Moving away from the stairs, she frowned. Thinking back on it, she'd never heard the excited chatter of a successful berry trip. Slightly fearful for her kitchen, she left Lori alone to go outside and check the camp. Her eyes darted around, searching for a flash of platinum blonde hair. When she found none, she felt her heart start climbing into her throat. She and Carol should have long been back from their excursion to the riverside. Clenching the towel in her hand, she jogged over to Dale and Andrea who sat atop the RV.

"Dale? Have Carol and Beth come back yet? It's nearly dark and they're not here." To her credit, Patricia kept the panic out of her voice, though her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Dale's deep frown didn't help that situation. She wrung the towel as both man and woman climbed down from the RV.

"Andrea, you get Daryl. We'll need him if we have to track them in the dark." As Andrea hurried off to carry out her orders, Daryl set a steady hand on Patricia's shoulder. "They're fine," he reassured her. "Carol's not going to let anything happen to your girl." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Fear lay behind that confident gaze, hard to pinpoint, but definitely there. "Stay here, wait for them if they come back. I'll head towards the river, tell Andrea and Daryl to follow behind me." With a final positive smile, Dale hooked his rifle further onto his shoulder and started jogging as well as he could to the woods.

He was almost to the treeline when he heard something rustling. "Carol? Beth? That you?" When he didn't get an answer, he slowed his pace and drew his rifle. Sending up a quick prayer to whatever deity would listen, he ventured further towards the trees. It was getting harder to see anything as the sun continued to set, but he didn't see anything that looked specifically human shaped, walker or otherwise. Satisfied, he replaced the rifle at his shoulder and continued on.

He didn't see the walker until it was too late. It grabbed at him with greedy fingers, pushing him to the ground. The rifle, slung as it was, was completely out of his reach as he held the walker at bay. Its dead eyes filled with lifelike excitement as it tried to bend down and bite at him. Terrified, Dale cried out.

Everyone heard the scream. Daryl and Andrea, who had already been making their way to the forest, broke into a run. Rick and Shane dropped what they were doing to grab guns and follow hot on their trail while Glenn abandoned his post at Maggie's side to grab T-Dog and follow after them. Patricia's heart lept into her throat as her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. Hershel came up behind her to grip her arm and keep her steady. He had a horrible feeling he'd be needed and sent her to fetch his emergency kit. With something to do, her mind kicked into gear and focused on finding the kit. She relayed the message of the scream quickly to Lori, who bolted out of the house. She nearly trampled over Carl as he raced after his mother, completely ignoring her panicked cries for him to stay in the house. She found the bag easily and she and Hershel ran to join the others.

In the forest, Carol and Beth were heading back when they heard Dale yell. They spared a fraction of a second to look at each other before dropping the berries and sprinting ahead. Carol couldn't recall a time before this when she'd run so fast. They broke into the clearing in time to see the walker dig its disgusting bones for fingers into Dale's abdomen and wrench it apart. With an anguished cry, Carol launched herself at the walker, rolling with it for a moment before shoving it off of her. She got to her knees quickly, hatchet held in a vice like grip to attack. Daryl beat her to it, reaching the walker just before it scrambled up after her and plunging his knife into his skull. Both breathing hard, they stared at each other for a moment before remembering their friend on the ground.

Andrea and Beth were hunched over Dale, each clenching a hand and failing miserably at keeping calm. Beth was practically sobbing, while Andrea kept running a hand over Dale's face and uttering a single word: "No". She tried to will away with truth, turn back time to make it there just ten seconds earlier. But they were too late, and now they had to watch as one of their own bled out on the cold ground.

The rest of group arrived en masse a few seconds later, all coming to a sharp halt beside Dale and the others. Nobody could do anything but stand in shock; everything seemed to move in slow motion. Rick shouted at Hershel to do something, anything, to save the man's life. But a single look at the fatal wound told the doctor that there was nothing he could do. Dale was beyond his care, and it broke Hershel's heart. Glenn fell to his knees beside Andrea, his eyes frantically running over the man who had become like a father to him. The boy touched him gently, as if afraid his fingers would only hurt him more.

All anyone could do was watch, the deafening silence filled with Dale's violent gasps for breath and moans of pain. It was Andrea who broke the deadly quiet.

"He's suffering." The words were quiet, yet rang clear in their ears. In that moment, everyone knew what needed to be done, but nobody could do it. This wasn't a walker, or some random human threat. This was Dale. Kind, sweet Dale. The man who had rallied so long for them to keep themselves together, to keep their humanity alive. And now they were faced with a gruesome decision. Keep him alive to suffer until he died on his own, or give him the merciful death he deserved.

Rick choked back the tears burning at his eyes as he withdrew his gun. His hand shook as he raised it to aim the barrel at Dale's head. But he couldn't do it. Hell, his finger couldn't even make it to the trigger. Shane spoke from beside, offering him sick words of encouragement that he'd dwell on later. Right now, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot Dale. Daryl stepped forward, taking the gun from him. He looked at the man, gratitude plain in his shining eyes. Daryl simply nodded and took Rick's place.

Dale's face was a contortion of pain and relief as Daryl took to his knee and rested the barrel at the man's temple. He took a deep breath and rested his finger on the trigger. Feeling a light touch at his back, he looked over to see Carol's tear streaked face. Her smile was pained as she knelt beside Dale, her other hand clutching Beth tight to her. Her small hand on his back seemed so insignificant, but offered a world of strength he knew she was completely unaware she had. Turning back to Dale, he took only a single moment more of the man's pain to send up a prayer for him. He wasn't religious, but in this moment he knew it was right. If there was a God up there looking down, no doubt he was laughing at the chaos they lived in every day, but just this once, Daryl hoped he would be kind. Just this once, he would accept one more soul into Heaven, because that's where Dale belonged.

"Sorry, brother." He squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out clear in the night. Dale's eyes closed for the last time as the pain and fear left him.

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><p>AN: See why it was such a bitch to get through? I had to force myself to write it all out. Please click the pretty "review" button and let me know what you think. Thanks so much! :D


	5. TDog's Nightmare

Disclaimer! Once again, I own none of these lovely characters. I claim the story line, and that's it.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I loved reading what you had to say, and there are a few of you who need responding to.

**Serethiel96**: Nicely done! You're the first person to make that connection, so give yourself a pat on the back. And make sure you buy yourself a cookie, you deserve it.  
>For those of you who haven't caught on, each title of this story is based off of the Potter Puppet Pals mini series. They're tweaked so they apply to this fandom instead. They're absolutely hilarious, so go check them out!<p>

**Zuzu's Petals**: He shouldn't be resisting too much longer. ;D Their romance is coming soon, I promise!

**Sinister Attraction**: Thank you so much. Though I'm sorry I made you late to work! XD

**Luuh Reedus**: I love the Sherlock Holmes novels. And the old movies. I used to watch them all the time with my father and he passed his love of them on to me.

And now, enjoy the chapter!

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><p>Nobody moved, all frozen in the surrealism of the moment. Daryl's arm fell limply to his side and he sat back on his haunches. All he'd done was pull a trigger, yet his mind and body were exhausted as if he'd done a triathlon. That's certainly what all their emotions had gone through tonight. Rubbing a hand over his face, he let out a shaky breath. There was a lot to do now, but he didn't want to think anymore. He was tired, dammit. They all were. He handed the gun back to Rick, who holstered it quickly, before rising to his feet.<p>

"Glenn-," Rick's voice broke as he tried to speak. Clearing it quickly, he tried again. "Glenn, Shane, T-Dog, will you help me with him?" He set a hand on Daryl's shoulder as the man tried to protest, making eye contact with him. Dixon had already shouldered more than his share tonight. He would be needed again for the funeral tomorrow, but for now, he was done. Daryl's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he thought about arguing. Thankfully he wasn't fool enough to do so. He knew now wasn't the time. So he simply exchanged a nod with Rick and kept quiet. Instead, he moved to help Andrea to her feet. The woman refused to let go of Dale's hand at first, but he finally pried her off the body. He turned to help Carol only to find her already on her feet, turning Beth away from the sight.

All but Hershel started to wander back to the house as Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glenn took care of Dale's body. Nobody wanted to think about the viscera that lay sprawled along the ground, but it was inevitable as the old doctor pulled several pairs of heavy-duty gloves from his bag, passing them around the men. Carol scrunched her face at the unpleasant image that refused to leave her mind. She tried to focus on getting Beth back to the house instead, keeping her arm tight around the girl until they reached the porch. Patricia took over from there, leading Beth into the house with a nod of thanks to Carol. Lori followed them in, pulling a very shaken Carl behind her. Andrea retreated to the RV, her sobbing quieted by the walls. Carol and Daryl were left alone, neither of them sure what to do. So Daryl did the

one thing he was very good at: got the hell out. He beelined for his tent.

Carol strode after him, quickly falling into step and slightly surprised when he didn't protest. When they came across the small section where his tent should be, she was greeted with an empty plot. Frowning, she looked up where he was headed. Sometime during the day, he'd left their camp to make his own further up on the hill. Her heart tugged at the sight, a blatant sign that he was isolating himself even more.

"Daryl, please..." She reached out to lay a hand on his arm gently, pulling him to a stop at the base of he hill. He shrugged her off and continued walking. He gave her a hard look and jerked his head towards his tent. If she wanted to talk, then dammit, they'd do it on his own turf. Besides, there was something he needed to do first. She didn't say anything else as they approached the tent. Ditching his crossbow against his motorcycle, he grabbed a bottle of water from his saddlebags. He carefully rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, twisted the cap off the bottle, and poured the water over his hands to wash off Dale's blood.

Carol might as well have been invisible for all the attention he payed her as he cleaned his hands. Once the blood that he could see in the dim moonlight was gone, he scrubbed his flesh with a towel, hoping he got it all. Only when he was completely done did he turn to her.

"So go on, then. What d'you want?" He asked gruffly, jamming a hand through hair that was in serious need of a wash. Frankly, all of him was in need of a good scrub. He made a mental note in hopes of getting to a bath tomorrow, if he could spare the time.

"You okay? Do you . . .do you wanna talk about it?' Carol asked carefully, taking a step towards him. Concern was etched on her face and she wanted to reach out to him in any way she could. She wondered if he would try to pull away even more after tonight and if he realized what would happen if he tried. Did he know that by stepping up and taking the responsibility he had, he'd solidified his place in the group? She'd seen the relief and respect on Rick's face and frankly wouldn't be surprised if the man had found himself a new wingman to turn to.

"Talk about what? Did what had to be done, that's all." The words sounded ridiculous even to him, but what the hell did she want? Was he supposed to act like a damn woman and weep over what had happened? Yeah, he was angry and upset, but what was the point in showing it?

"That's bull and you know it." Carol gave him a hard look, crossing her arms over her chest. "You can sit there and pretend you don't care about what just happened all you want. But don't lie. Not about this; not about Dale."

He whirled on her, eyes blazing with anger as he towered over her. "You wanna know how I feel? What I think? Fine! Man was a fucking idiot!" He pointed wildly in the direction of the field where Dale's blood still steamed in the cool night.

"Goin' off on his own like that, he was askin' for some geek to take a chunk outta him. He knew Andrea and I were right behind him; all he had to do was fucking wait for us! Instead he went out on his own lookin' for your ass."

He kept talking after that, continuing his rant and getting it out, but Carol stopped listening. Dale had been looking for her when he got attacked? A wave of guilt crashed over her as that information soaked in. Oh God, it was her fault. _She_ had gotten Dale killed. She stumbled back as if she'd been struck, her eyes filling with tears.

Daryl recognized that look instantly. He stopped his ranting and took a moment to just breathe. Running a hand through his hair, he pointed a finger at her. "Don't start that. What happened ain't your fault, so don't go down that road. He was too old to be pulling that kind of heroic shit, and he paid the price." He clenched his teeth almost painfully as he fought with what to do, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. Grabbing a clean rag, he stepped forward and wiped her cheek as gently as he could.

The rough material was smooth against her cheek, the touch light on her skin. She sniffled and smiled grimly up at him. "Then it's not your fault either. You pulled the trigger, but you brought him peace. You did him a kindness."

Daryl scoffed, pulling his hand away from her cheek. "I did what needed doin'. You forget who I am, woman? I'm a Dixon. We don't do kind."

"You can't still believe that, not after everything that's happened." A thousand examples of all the good he'd done flooded her brain. He'd more than proven himself a good, decent man. Why couldn't he see that?

"Why not? It's true, ain't it? Merle and I—"

"Are _not_ the same person!" She interjected sharply. "You are nothing like your brother, Daryl. Merle is nothing more than a bully. A racist, chauvinistic bully." She didn't miss the look he gave her, warning her to watch her words. "It's true," she insisted. "He's plain mean, and you're not. I've told you before, you're a good man, and I will make you believe it."

He almost laughed at the vehemence in her statement. All his life, everyone had told him that he was shit, good for nothing. It took the end of the world for opinions of him to change, and for some reason, this woman was determined to prove it to him. But she didn't really know him, didn't know the life he'd led before this.

"You didn't know me a year ago, and you don't know shit about the things that I've done. A few months of good don't make up for a lifetime of bad. I ain't good, Carol. I'm broken. Have been ever since—"He stared down at his feet, ashamed and embarrassed of the confession he'd just made and the one he'd nearly let slip.

He was determined to break her heart. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she lifted her hand to cup his cheek. His head jerked up as she touched him, his eyes betraying his fear. She didn't imagine anyone had ever laid a gentle hand on him and she saw that instinct to run perk up. It was one she'd experienced enough times to recognize on the spot. But he fought it, staying with her.

"You are a broken man, but broken doesn't have to mean ruined. You're not a lost cause. Takes a little time and a little patience, but broken can be fixed. Healed." She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb, wishing she had some other way of helping him. Words only went so far.

"Why do you care 'bout fixin' me so much?" His voice was gruff when he spoke, laced with emotions he hadn't felt for a long time. Hope. Trust.

Carol smiled at him, thinking about the horrors her own past held. "We're pretty similar, you and I. Broken because of our pasts, but still here while others aren't. Us busted ones have to stick together, prove all the fuckers who thought we wouldn't make it wrong."

He genuinely laughed at her language, surprised that she'd use such crass words. She'd certainly come a long way from the meek, helpless woman he'd met months ago. For a split second, he wished he could see this Carol in action with Ed. Bastard wouldn't have lasted five minutes with her. He placed his own hand over Carol's, squeezing it tightly before drawing it away from his face.

"Guess you're right. Head on back to the others, help 'em out with Dale." Dropping her hand, he turned away from her to gather up supplies for his supper. They might have had their little breakthrough moment, but he still preferred to be on his own, at least for tonight.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine, woman. Gonna eat and sleep so I won't be exhausted when you come wake me up at two in the morning. Bring that lantern when you do; might as well crack open a book with you." He laughed at her stunned silence, chucking a towel at her to get her functioning again. She rolled her eyes and chucked it back before starting back down the hill.

"Thanks, Carol," he called after her quietly, keeping his voice low so she wouldn't hear. But years of motherhood had honed her hearing and she heard the muttered words.

The next day was hard on everyone. The last thing they wanted to do was attend another funeral. But this was Dale, and everyone stood around his grave in somber silence. For a long time, nobody spoke. What was there to say? Rick finally found the words, speaking up as he stared down at the ground.

"Dale was a rare soul on this earth, one of the best I've had the privilege to know. No matter the circumstances, he was kind and strong. He looked for the best in everyone, even when nobody else could see it. He saw a lot of things we didn't and didn't have a problem speaking his mind about 'em.

"Things have changed; this new world is cold and harsh and it's not getting any easier. We can't abide by the same rules we used to, but that doesn't mean we stop doing what's right. Our group's been broken, pulled apart by internal issues, but that stops here. The threat's not in our camp, but beyond it and we continue surviving by pulling together, not apart. Our differences get put aside _now_ and forgotten. That's how we honour and remember Dale. We get stronger. For him."

Carol was half tempted to start clapping when he finished speaking, but instead settled for dropping the white flower she clutched onto the ground. A shower of petals rained down as everyone followed suit, dotting the fresh mound of dirt in white. It didn't make the depressing sight any more bearable. Slowly people started drifting away from the grave, half-heartedly settling into the morning chore routine. Catching Daryl's gaze, she jerked her head towards Rick and nodded. He nodded back and together they approached the man.

"Hey, Rick? I'm sorry to bring this up now, man, but we're low on ammunition and some other supplies. We need to make a run into town, today if we can manage it." Daryl legitimately felt bad for making such a request today, but shit still needed to get done.

Rick sighed, nodding in agreement. "I know. Been pushing off a run for the last couple days with everything's that happened. Grab some gear, we'll head out soon."

Carol touched his arm lightly as he turned away, grabbing his attention again. "Maybe that's not such a good plan," she said, glancing towards Lori. The woman was openly staring at them, arms crossed over her chest defensively. "Lori and Carl need you here. Let Shane and T-Dog come with us."

"_Us?_" Daryl interjected, staring at her incredulously. What the hell was she talking about? This had not been part of the plan they'd discussed an hour ago. No fucking way was she going with them and making him worry about her every ten seconds. The men he knew could take care of themselves, but he wasn't so sure about her yet.

"Yes. Us. I'm going, Daryl, whether you like it or not. Maggie will barely let Glenn out of her sight and nobody wants to deal with another one of her bitch fits about him leaving again. I'm not as young or quick as him, but I'm not decrepit. I can move fast on my feet when I have to." She stood her ground, refusing to back down on this. She'd be quick, quiet, and she'd have her hatchet. She could do this.

He wanted to argue. Lord, did he want to argue, but she made sense. No way was Maggie just going to let Glenn make another run without bitching, and Rick had to stay for his family. Damn, he did not like this plan, but she was right.

"Fuck. Fine, but you stay close. You listen to what I tell you and don't get your ass bit or killed. Got it?" Her triumphant smile only irked him more, making him want to both smack and hug her. Cursing under his breath, he tromped back to his camp to gather bags together. Carol wanted to follow him, but went to her tent to do the same.

Rick merely chuckled at their exchange. He'd never seen Daryl back down so quickly before, and especially not with a woman. Watching the two, it wasn't hard to see the bond that had grown between them in the weeks since Sophia's disappearance. Daryl's devotion to finding that little girl had been nothing short of incredible and Carol had latched onto that hope. Carol's daughter had brought them together, but their relationship was going deeper than that. Not surprisingly, neither of them was aware of it.

"Shane, T-Dog! Grab your gear, need you to make a run into town with Carol and Daryl for supplies." Thankfully the men didn't argue, and everyone was ready to go within minutes. They clambered into the truck, T-Dog and Shane in the cab with Carol and Daryl in the bed. The trip was easy enough, the roads clear of walkers but bumpy from months of neglect. Carol tried not to look like a floundering fish as she bounced around in the bed, grappling onto anything she could find to keep herself anchored.

Shane stopped the truck just outside of town, not willing to drive the rambling vehicle any closer. It was far enough to not alert anyone, living or dead, of their arrival, yet close enough to reach if they had to make a run for it. They all disembarked quickly, throwing various backpacks over their shoulders for whatever supplies they could gather. A double check of weapons was done, and Shane handed out assignments.

"Alright, people. Keep quiet, try not to spread out too much. Carol, take the pharmacy. Grab any medicine we need and anything you think we might. If in doubt, just take it. Stuff's startin' to get scarce and we can't afford to be picky. Daryl, the camping store. Tents, sleeping bags, whatever. T-Dog and I'll take weapons, see if there's anything left. You see somethin', don't keep it to yourself. Meet back here in an hour."

They broke quietly, everyone heading off to see to their tasks. T-Dog and Shane moved quickly through the deserted streets, weapons drawn and at the ready just in case. Carol and Daryl did the same, sticking together until they had to split. Thankfully the pharmacy and camping shop were next door to each other, offering Carol an odd sense of security. God forbid the shit hit the fan, but if it did, it was nice to know that someone far more capable was just next door. At the door, Daryl pulled her aside before she entered, taking a moment to poke his head inside and do a quick scan. When nothing jumped out to chomp at him, he let her go.

"Looks fine, but still, watch yourself. You see somethin', you swing first, ask later. Holler if you need me." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but held his tongue as she smiled at him.

"Thanks, Mom." She smirked as she opened the flap to the large bag over her shoulder, withdrawing her hatchet just in case. His concern for her was sweet and she couldn't help but poke fun at him. She was smart enough not to laugh at the glare he fixed on her as he turned and entered the camping shop. Had she been anyone else, he would have flipped her off.

The pharmacy was small, half of it already cleared out by various other looters and their own previous expeditions. Still, she swept what she could into the bag, watching as bottles of Tylenol, Midol, Dayquil, and a million other medicines spilled into it.

Oddly enough, the feminine hygiene section was nearly untouched. It was possibly the most beautiful sight she'd seen in a long time. She ripped open boxes of pads and tampons, adding them to the stash in her bag before grabbing the holy grail: sanitary wipes. Since nobody was around, she took a moment to indulge in a victorious jig. Her own stash of wipes had long since been depleted and soap and water made one only feel so clean. She emptied the store of their supply, knowing the other women would appreciate them just as much. As she came to the end of the feminine hygiene section, something caught her eye. Freezing, her hand hovered above the colourful box. It wasn't exactly on her list, but could it really hurt to get them? Never knew when such things might be necessary...

A bright flush flooded her cheeks at her train of thought. She shoved the box into a zippered compartment in the bag before she lost her nerve, looking around nervously as if she'd be caught.

Moving on, she picked up allergy pills, cold medicines, and various prescriptions from behind the counter. She didn't know what half of them were, but it really didn't matter. A few of the labels she recognized, like Oxycontin and Vicodin. She tossed them into the bag; with everything they went through, no doubt they'd need all the pain meds they could get. Everything else she took was unfamiliar, not that it really mattered. It was medicine, and at some point or another, they would probably need it.

Next door, Daryl could have done a jig of his own. The camping store was a gold mine. Tents, sleeping bags, packaged meal bars, and almost anything else they could need were gleaming from the aisles. It was hilarious, really. World goes to shit, and nobody grabs camping gear. Nope, everyone had been too concerned with guns and gas and hadn't bothered to think about what they'd need when the fuel ran out. This place was like a nirvana.

Taking tents off the walls, he started making a pile on the floor, adding to it whenever he could. Before long, he had a mountain of tents, new sleeping bags, provisions, fishing gear, even sturdy hiking boots in nearly every size. Packing everything that would fit together, he hauled some of the loot into his arms. It was a bitch getting the first load into the back of the truck, but he managed it somehow. He was working on the second when he heard the gunshot. Grabbing whatever he could hold, he bolted out of the store, stopping on the side walk to try and figure out where the shot had come from. From here, it was impossible to tell. What the fuck?

Carol burst out of the pharmacy, hatchet at the ready. "What happened?" Dumb question, considering Daryl looked as puzzled as she felt. Daryl just shook his head, shoving two small boxes in her hands. She didn't have time to really see what they were before he was pushing her in the direction of the truck. Shane and T-Dog were already there when they made it, shouting at them to hurry up. Shane took aim with his gun as they dumped everything in the bed of the truck, squeezing off three rounds before he clambered into the driver's seat. T-Dog had a hand pressed tight to his chest, a bright red stain spreading over the white of his shirt. He winced and cursed as he climbed into the passenger's seat, pressing tighter in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

When Daryl and Carol were back in the truck, Shane slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and the truck lurched forward. As they sped away, Carol caught a glimpse of three men chasing after them, each waving a gun and yelling after them. What in the hell had happened? Looking through the window separating the cab from the bed, she saw T-Dog stretched out in his seat, his eyes squeezed tight against the pain as they bounced along the road. Thankfully Shane wasted no time and all but flew back to the farm, his urgency getting them back in record time. The dust and ruckus they kicked up gathered everyone around the house. Carol lept out of the bed as soon as they came to a stop, moving to yank open T-Dog's door. Seeing the pain on the man's face, she pressed a hand to his forehead. Oh God, he was burning up.

"Hang in there, you're going to be _fine_. Rick!" She backed away from the truck, making way for Rick as he came rushing forward. He took one look T-Dog's blood soaked shirt, swore, and turned to Hershel.

"He's been shot. There's a lot of blood," he said, pulling T-Dog out of the car slowly, slinging the man's arm over his shoulder to take his weight. Daryl was immediately on his other side, doing the same. Hershel pointed them towards the shed, which had been set up for surgery for the last few weeks just in case. Patricia handed him the bag containing his medical supplies and the three of them rushed to the shed as fast as they could.

"What happened?" Lori came to stand beside Carol as they watched the men hurry off. Carol could only shrug as she wondered the same thing. She ventured a look at Shane, who was leaning against the truck, his face completely blank.

"I have no idea; I was in the pharmacy getting medicine and heard a gunshot. When Daryl and I made it to the car, T-Dog was shot and men were chasing after us." She was itching to ask Shane what had gone down, but was terrified to approach him herself. No doubt they'd come together once T-Dog was out of surgery to find out answers. Remembering the pain meds in her bag, she leaned over the bed of the truck to rummage around through the dozens of bottles. Pulling out the Vicodin, she jogged over to the shed. T-Dog's agonized scream from inside sent a chill down her spine, making her pause for a second. She forced herself to brush it off and pull open the door. T-Dog was writhing on the table as Hershel hunched over him, scalpel clutched in his blood drenched hand. Carol winced, doing her best to clamp down on her stomach's sudden urge to relive her breakfast.

Daryl was the first to see her and he moved forward to place himself in front of her, blocking the gruesome sight behind him from view. He gave her a questioning look that she was suddenly incapable of answering. Her voice failed her as she held up the bottle. Daryl nodded approvingly as he took the bottle, throwing it to Rick before taking Carol's hand and ushering her out. She sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, clearing her head slowly. Clearing her throat, she tested her voice again.

"Wi-will he be okay?" Daryl hesitated at her shaky words, having no clue what to tell her. The doc had barely cut into T-Dog's chest when she'd burst into the shed. There'd been a shit ton of blood and not much else.

"Not sure how bad it is yet. He's all hooked up to an IV and the Doc's hopeful, so we'll see. He lost a lot of blood, though." Looking back towards the house, he saw everyone still huddled around the car, their eyes fixed on the shed. "Come on, let's unpack all this shit while we wait. Be a good distraction." Placing his hand on the small of her back, he gently nudged her forward, guiding her back to the farm. Everyone threw themselves into unpacking, sorting and dividing supplies amongst everyone. The medicine was added to the stash already kept in the house, along with the single bag of ammunition Shane and T-Dog had been able to scrounge up. When asked about what happened, Shane refused to talk, saying he would tell everyone once T-Dog was out of surgery. He completely shut down, keeping quiet even around Lori. It was suspicious, but certainly not the most pressing matter at hand.

In the shed, Hershel and Rick fought to save T-Dog's life. Covered in blood, they worked as quickly as they good to delve through muscle and organ tissue to dig out the bullet. Unfortunately, like it had with Carl, the small round of metal had shattered into multiple pieces, each embedding itself in precarious locations. As far as Hershel could tell, no vital organs were penetrated, but if he didn't find all the pieces soon, there was a very real risk of his patient dying of blood loss. They had no idea what blood type T-Dog was, which meant they couldn't risk doing transfusions and having him reject the blood. All he could do was work as fast he could. Thankfully, T-Dog had stopped screaming and thrashing. Rick had shoved two of the pills Carol had brought in down the man's throat and he'd since passed out from the medication and the pain.

"Hershel, you can't let him die. Please, I-It was only supposed to be a quick run into town. In and out, with nobody getting hurt," Rick rambled on as he monitored T-Dog's vitals, keeping two fingers pressed to the man's neck. With each passing second, the beat against his fingers felt fainter, slower.

"Rick, if you want him to live, you're going to have to do me one favor." Hershel didn't bother to lift his head from his work, his eyes roaming over the mess of blood and tissue in search of the elusive metal. "Shut up and let me work." Rick stopped talking immediately, leaving the shed deadly quiet.

It felt like hours had passed when they finally came out of that shed. Afternoon chores had been completely abandoned as everyone gathered on the front porch, just waiting for one of them to come tell them something, anything. There was little talking among them, the tension keeping them from saying much. They had just lost one of their own, could they handle another death? Carol shuddered at the thought of another funeral and ran her fingers through Beth's hair to keep herself from fidgeting. The girl on the porch next to her, bent over to lay her head in Carol's lap. They'd been like that the entire time, keeping each other company as they waited for news. It was Beth who noticed her father and Rick exiting the shed first.

"There they are," she said, nudging Carol's leg as she sat up. En masse, everyone stood, but didn't leave the porch. They stayed frozen in their spots as the men approached them. They were a frightening sight, their shirts completely saturated in blood. They tried to keep their faces calm and expressionless, but their eyes betrayed them. Carol had seen that look too many times and as they stopped in front of the group, she braced herself for the news.

"The bullet exploded into several pieces in his chest and one shard nicked his aorta. It was small. I thought I caught it in time—," His voice broke on the words and he swiped a bloody hand across his forehead. His hand quivered as he did so, showing how shaken up he truly was. He absolutely hated losing patients, human or animal. It was never easy, watching a living being you were caring for die in your care. Each time it happened, a small piece of his heart broke. It was why he'd always been so adamant about doing all he could, no matter what.

Rick laid a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. He stepped forward, taking the burden from him. "We couldn't close the hole in time," he ground out, forcing the words past his lips. "He bled out on us." There. It was said. Another of their group was gone, lost to the brutality of the new world. Settling his hands on his hips, he turned to Shane.

"Shane? If you don't mind, I'd like to hear what happened in town." His friend looked up, his eyes hauntingly empty as they met Rick's. He merely nodded, got to his feet, and walked away from the house. Everyone followed, hardly complaining about the location; inside the house would just feel cramped, claustrophobic. The fresh might help take the edge off the story they really didn't want to hear.

As Carol rose from her spot, Beth clutched at her arm, refusing to let go. "Are you sure you want to come, sweetheart? I need to know what happened, just like everyone else." The girl just nodded, her mouth set in a defiant line. It made Carol's heart glad to see her investing an interest in the group again, though she desperately wished it were under better circumstances. Glancing at Lori, the other woman nodded for her to go as she knelt to talk to her son.

"Carl, I want you to wait in the house for us, okay? And please," she said, cutting off Carl's objection, "don't argue. Go find a good book and just wait for us there." She raised a hand to cup his cheek, startled when he pulled back sharply. The glare he shot her over his shoulder as he stalked away tugged at her heart. She hated sending him away like that, but there was no need to frighten him any more. The story Shane was going to tell them was hardly going to be pleasant and she didn't want him having that tale in his head. She sighed as she rose to her feet, brushing the dirt off her knees as she joined the others.

"We ran into another group," Shane confessed as soon as everyone was gathered. Running a hand over the peach fuzz on his head, he fumbled for the right words. "We got to the store no problem. No walkers, no people, no nothing. The place had already been looted, but there was still some stuff we coulda used. Most of the guns were gone, but there were knives, bolts for crossbows. Shit nobody thinks of taking, you know? Packed everything we could and when we turn to leave, there's a fucking gun in my face. These two douchebags said that we were taking _their_ supplies and told us to hand 'em over."

Shane balled his fist, wishing he could pummel that bastard's face some more. He settled for kicking the stump near his foot—hardly a suitable substitute. "I tried to be all diplomatic and shit like you're always preaching, Rick, but this fucker wasn't gonna let us out of there with _his_ stash. Fight broke out when we refused to hand it over. Long story short, we ran, they shot at us. T-Dog got hit," he fumed, his voice laced with genuine fury. Whether it was for T-Dog's death or the fact that he hadn't gotten to kill the little fuck who shot him, he didn't know.

"Well, you weren't alone. Where were Carol and Daryl?" Lori questioned from the side, giving the pair a harsh look.

Daryl nearly ripped her head off. "Gettin' supplies! You think we woulda just stood there and let him get shot? You gotta be fucking kidding me," he snarled at her. He brushed off the hand Carol set on his shoulder, having no desire to be placated. Dumb bitch wanted to start hurling accusations in his face, so be it. See how long that lasted.

Lori threw her hands up in surrender, even taking a step back. "Alright. Sorry," she muttered, immediately backing down.

"Just calm down," Rick pleaded as he stepped forward. "Were none of you there for Dale's funeral this morning? We just lost another man. This is _not_ the time to be jumping at each other's throats." He looked around, daring any one of them to say a word against him. This internal fighting had gone on long enough, and he was damned sick of it. He sighed in defeat, suddenly feeling as if the whole world had just fallen on his shoulders. "I need a drink," he mumbled under his breath, stalking back towards the house. Hershel fell into step beside him, seconding his statement. The older man took the lead into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of whisky out of the cupboard above the long useless stove.

"Annette kept a bottle around just in case, pretended not to notice when a splash went missing here or there," he explained, feeling the need to validate the alcohol. Rick didn't say a word as the liquor sloshed into two shot glasses. Throwing it back, he welcomed the burn as it slid down his throat. Another shot was poured and downed before he felt grounded again. Though he would have liked nothing more than to get drunk off his ass like he had at the CDC, he knew better. There was too much going on right now; he was needed sober and aware. But damn, was it tempting.

Lori entered the house a few seconds later, the screen door slamming behind her. Hershel slipped from the kitchen quietly, not even trying to hide the fact that he took the bottle with him. Rick moved to the sink, bracing his arms against the counter as he looked out the window. He felt Lori's arms slide around his waist and he leaned back slightly into her, grateful for the embrace.

"You okay?" He shook his head, wanting to laugh at the question. Nothing was okay right now.

"No. We have another body, another friend, to plan a funeral for. I just—is it ever going to stop?" He wanted some comforting word to make him feel better. Some lie about how the world was magically going to fix itself, but even he couldn't fool himself like that anymore. He wanted his best friend to stop pulling away from him. He wanted a lot of things, but mainly he didn't want to think about he'd never get any of them.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Lori whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. She hated seeing him like this and desperately wished she had the words to make him feel better. But she didn't. All she could offer was a shoulder to lean on, someone who would always be there for him. They stood there for a long while, just needing to be close to one another. Finally, when the tension, had left Rick's body, Lori unwrapped herself from him.

"I'll make some lunch," she offered, though she had a feeling nobody was really hungry. But it would give her something to do, at least for now.

"Carl!" She froze when she didn't get an answer. No sound of boots running down the stairs, no call of acknowledgement from upstairs. Nothing. "Carl?" Her heart lurched up into her throat she dropped the bread in her hands to tear through the house. Behind her, she barely registered the sound of Rick following. It was his turn to comfort her, but she brushed him away as she searched the house. He was nowhere to be found. Dear God, not now!

Bursting out onto the porch, her eyes frantically flew over everything she could see. "Carl!" She screamed, catching everyone's attention, except the one person she was looking for.

A blood curdling scream was her only reply.

* * *

><p>Muahaha, I leave you with another cliff hanger! I hope you guys enjoyed this installment and please send along any feedback you like!<p> 


	6. Jenner's Disease

Jenner's Disease 03/27/2012

Disclaimer: One again, I own none of these wonderful characters, merely all the nasty things I'm doing to them.

A/N: Welcome back, everyone! Whelp, T-Dog's dead and Carl is once again getting into all sorts of things he shouldn't. A lot of you were pretty upset that I killed off T-Dog, but with the way this story is working itself out, it unfortunately had to be done. So I am sorry, but things will get better! I warn you now, this chapter is kind of a raging ball of raw emotions since I'm piling more bad on top of bad. It wasn't overly fun to write, and not overly fun to read, but it's actually a pivotal chapter for EVERYONE, especially the couple around which this fic is based. So, try to enjoy and remember, that things will get better.

It wasn't Carl's intent to cause trouble. He was just so sick of being told to stay in the house! Nothing interesting ever happened inside the house. Ever. Why couldn't he be part of the big group discussions that seemed to take place every day? Wasn't he part of the group too? He had every right to be there, but no, his mother sent him to his room like he'd done something wrong. It wasn't fair! So he felt a little rebellious, as he did a lot nowadays, and slipped out of the house. Not like anyone ever really noticed anyway…

As usual, nobody did this time either. They were all huddled around Shane, listening intently as he told them all what happened in town. The bitterness he felt rose again, urging him forward into whatever mischief awaited him. What exactly drove him towards the shed he didn't know, but that's where he ended up, the bravado that had fueled him fleeing as he neared the door. He knew what lay inside and he'd certainly seen his fair share of dead bodies in the last months since the world had gone to hell. Many of them had been people he'd known. So why the sudden hesitation?

A small part of him wanted to turn back, was screaming at him to turn back and for once listen to his mother…

No! He'd already come this far.

Taking hold of the door he jerked it open before he could change his mind. The smell of copper hit him in the face as he stepped inside. The sunlight streaming in through the windows made it easy to see the body lying on the table in the middle of the room.

Taking a step forward, he floundered for a moment as his foot slid in something. Looking down, he saw the floor covered in blood. It dripped from the body on the table, spreading out to cover the entire floor of the small shed. It was a sickening sight.

Inching closer, Carl kept one eye constantly on the door. If someone came in and found him, his father would skin him alive. Or rather, he'd let Daryl do it since his father had never skinned anything in his life. He heard his mother screech something about Daryl and Carol from outside and his fear of being caught dissipated. They were all arguing, and bound to continue for awhile. That part of the meetings he didn't mind missing. Since he had the time, he didn't hurry. Thankfully the table was low enough that even Carl could stand over it and see everything. A small stool on the side helped.

Hershel hadn't bothered to stitch T-Dog's chest up after the failed surgery and Carl could see right into the man's chest. It look weird—a mass of red guck all tangled up and mushed around. If he remembered the basic seventh grade anatomy he'd probably never finish learning, the big red lump might be the heart. A sick, morbid curiosity made him pick up one of Hershel's surgical tools from the small counter next to the table. Gripping it tightly, he poked the heart, jumping back quickly as if expecting the body to rise up and attack him.

It didn't.

Stepping forward again, he leaned in close to the body to get a better look. It was gross, but so cool. He'd never been this close to vital organs without having whatever owned them try to eat him.

Standing on tiptoes, he leaned over the body. With his eyes closed, T-Dog looked so peaceful-like he was only sleeping, not dead. He hoped the man was at peace, finally, now that he was free from the chaos and madness they had to live with everyday. Bracing his arm near T-Dog's head, he continued his inspection.

He was so wrapped up in the task that he didn't notice the slight twitch of the corpse's head. The fluttering of the eyelids went completely unnoticed as the boy was lost in his own world. The guttural moaning finally clued him in that something was not right. Turning to investigate, he met a pair of sickening yellow eyes the second before teeth sunk into his wrist.

He screamed. He screamed like a little girl as he jerked away from the table. Grappling at his waist, he remembered too late that his gun was in the house. So he scrambled around the small shed to avoid T-Dog the walker as it descended upon him. Realizing he still had the sharp tool in his hand, he launched it at T-Dog's head, wanting to cry when he merely grazed his head. Making a break for it, he raced for the shed door, throwing himself on it to force it completely open. He kept running as he made it out, running into the open arms of his mother as she caught him.

Lori clutched Carl to her chest, her heart pounding through her chest. For a moment she, like everyone else, could only stare as T-Dog shuffled out of the shed. What in the hell?

Rick nearly fell over, unwilling to believe the truth that was hobbling towards him. He had watched this man die in his arms, from a gunshot wound, _not_ a walker bite. Yet here he stood, ready to tear every last one of them to shreds for an afternoon snack. He didn't fumble with his gun this time, forcing himself to realize that this was not T-Dog. This was the threat he'd talked about, the enemy. And he had a family to protect. Stepping forward, he lifted the gun, ready to pull the trigger. Shane stopped him, holding up a knife instead.

"I'll do it. Quieter," he said solemnly. He didn't understand what was going on anymore than anyone else did, but he felt an odd sense of responsibility for the man—the corpse—in front of him. He gripped the knife tightly, the hilt biting into the flesh of his hand. He stepped forward, taking another moment to look at the thing that used to be a person, someone he knew before he shut down his emotions, refusing to think of the walker in front of him as T-Dog. Moving quickly, he slammed the knife into the walker's skull, embedding the blade in its forehead. The growls stopped as the body went limp, falling into Shane's arms. He gently laid it down and wrenched the knife out, cleaning it quickly before sliding it back into its holster at his hip.

"Sorry, man,' he lamented softly, standing up to look at Rick. "Were there bites he didn't tell us about?" When would he have gotten bit? And why in the hell hadn't he said anything?

Rick shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "No, he wasn't bit."

"Then how?" Carol questioned, her arms wrapped tight around herself. As soon as T-Dog had shambled out of that barn, a chill had set deep in her bones. Even with the sun beating down overhead, it felt like ice water ran through her veins. She shivered, wishing for something to drive the cold away.

Standing behind her, Daryl untied the long-sleeve shirt he'd wrapped around his waist that morning and settled it around her shoulders. It wasn't much, but it was a hell of a lot better than the sleeveless shirt she had on now. The grateful smile she gave him sent a familiar pang through his chest, one that was getting harder to ignore with each passing day. He offered a small smile in return, turning his attention back to Rick. With the pained expression on his face, he half expected the man to have a heart attack any second. Still he didn't say anything, obviously struggling with what to do.

"We're all infected," he blurted finally.

When the news finally sank in, twelve pairs of wide eyes fixed on him, disbelief in every one. Silence took over, leaving it so quiet a pin drop would have been heard.

"At the CDC," Rick continued slowly, "Jenner told me whatever it is, that brings you back, we all carry it. It's in the blood."

"You've known all this time? Why the fuck didn't you tell us?" Andrea spoke up, her voice laced with anger. Her fists balled at her side, every inch of her tensing up.

"I didn't know for sure. What good would it have done to worry everyone when Jenner could have been wrong? I thought it was best if I didn't say anything until I knew for sure," he explained, doing his best to keep clam.

"Like hell!" Andrea shot forward, ready to send a fist slamming into Rick's face. How dare he keep something like this from them! Shane caught her mid-flight, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her back. She struggled against him, clawing at his hands to make him let go.

"Knowing wouldn't have changed anything!" Rick stepped forward, shouting at her as if it would make her understand.

Behind him, Lori hugged Carl closer to her. Feeling something wet and sticky on her neck, she swiped two fingers across her skin, horrified at the blood she saw when she pulled them away. Taking Carl's arm, she unwound it from her neck.

"Rick!" She cried out, immediately close to tears. She met his eyes as he turned around, holding out Carl's arm.

Rick's heart stopped as he saw the bloodied bite that marred his son's wrist. Falling to his knees, he practically crawled to where Carl and Lori sat huddled on the ground. Gingerly, he took Carl's wrist in his hands, hoping beyond hope that his eyes were just failing him. Not Carl. Not his son.

"No! No, no, no!" Tears burned at Rick's eyes as he repeated the word. Cupping Carl's face in his palm, he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead. He'd lost his family once already, he couldn't do it again. The bite was low on Carl's wrist, barely above where the hand met forearm. Maybe they could still save him...

"Hershel." The older man stepped forward, gasping when he saw the bite on the boy's arm. Setting a hand on Rick's shoulder, he met the man's tortured gaze. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking.

"Rick, I-I don't even know if that will work," he said sadly, wishing there was more he could do to help.

"We have to try! I can't lose him, Hershel. I can't," he pleaded. "Please, do it."

Lori panicked as she caught on to what Rick was asking, a mixture of terror and disgust flowing through her. "No! Rick, I won't let you disfigure him." She clutched at Rick's hand, her nails digging into his skin.

"And I won't let you kill him! We don't have any other choice, Lori." They sat there, just staring at each other until they heard Shane come up behind them.

Shane's heart nearly broke as he looked down at the boy he had come to love like a son over the last few months, sitting terrified in his parent's arms. Squatting beside the trio, he spoke softly. "Rick, Lori, I can't imagine what you're going through. I'm so sorry. But, maybe you should let Carl decide." The fury in Lori's eyes sliced him in two, but the sorrow in Rick's kept him going.

"Carl, think about this, man. You're bit," he said on the verge of tears. Forcing them back, he held the boy's gaze steady. "If we don't do somethin', you're gonna die. Your dad wants Hershel to…to amputate your arm." He couldn't handle the fear building in Carl's eyes, the unshed tears that threatened to spill over. A tear slid down his own cheek and he swiped it away quickly.

"Your mom, now she don't want that. But Carl, this is a choice you gotta make. We do this, it's gonna be hard on you. But we don't, we lose you." Shane didn't trust his voice anymore after that. Reaching out, he removed Carl's hat to ruffle his hair like he used to, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

Carl nodded against Shane's hand, looking between Hershel, Shane, and his parents. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded again. "Do it," he told Hershel firmly. His mother cried out, hugging him close and sobbing into his shirt. His father squeezed his eyes tight, trying in vain to hold back the tears that spilled anyway. Shane was the only one who didn't break down on him, providing a well of strength that Carl drew on.

"Rick," Hershel interjected quietly, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "If we're going to do this, it needs to be now. Before the infection spreads through his blood stream anymore."

Rick and Lori looked up, their eyes rimmed with red from their tears. They pushed themselves to their feet slowly, each keeping a grip on Carl as if afraid he would suddenly vanish. Carl clung to Shane's hand with a vice like grip, refusing to let go as his parents started to lead him away and forcing the man to come with them. At the entrance to the shed, Shane pulled Carl to a stop, kneeling in front of the boy.

"I can't go in there with you, man. I gotta stay out here, keep an eye on things, but your daddy's gonna take real good care of you, okay?" He pulled the boy into a tight hug His eyes met Rick's over Carl's shoulder and he nodded in agreement. Letting Carl go, Shane got to his feet, stumbling back as Hershel and the Grimes' disappeared into the shed.

When the door closed, Shane and the others were left standing there, not entirely sure what to do next. Nobody wanted to breathe too loudly, let alone say anything. Seeing that bite on Carl's wrist had stunned them all, the fact that his wrist was about to be removed stunned them even more. There was no way of knowing if this would even work, but what choice was there?

Desperate for something to do to keep his busy, Shane gestured towards T-Dog's body. "Daryl, you mind helping me with h-it?" Dixon stepped forward and together they hauled the body to the pit behind the house. It seemed as if they'd just burned a damned walker and here they were, ready for another one. They didn't stay there any longer than they had to, striking a match and tossing it onto the body to let it burn. Usually someone stayed by the fire to make sure it burned properly, but not today. Not this time. Both men retreated as soon as they could, going back to join the group still scattered in front of the shed. Once they returned, everyone slowly paired off and dispersed.

Glenn led Maggie back to the house, Beth, torn between going with her sister and staying to console Carol, only left after an approving nod from the older woman. Andrea tugged Shane towards the RV, giving an excuse that she wanted help it's checking and cleaning the remaining weapons. Frankly, that was the last thing on her mind-it was easy to see the pain and confusion that Shane was doing a shit job of hiding, and had every intention of helping him cope with that. No matter what it took.

(A/N: To help keep the flow of the story, I have a scene between Andrea and Shane that I've omitted from this chapter. It will be going up as a kind of 6.5 because it is an important scene, but I couldn't work it in a way that I was happy with, which is why it isn't seen here.)

Carol and Daryl slowly made their way back to his tent, neither saying a word as they did so. For once, Carol was grateful for his trademark stoicism- it meant he wasn't telling her to leave him be. She needed his company right now and she had a feeling he needed hers just as much. Tugging his shirt closer around her shoulders, she breathed in the scent of him, finally understanding what all those romance novels meant when she read about the hero having his own rugged, uniquely him smell. The smell of dirt and sweat clung to the shirt, but there was something else. Something distinctly manly and just so...Daryl. She was surrounded by him, every sense on high alert just because of a shirt! But she couldn't help it. He was intoxicating and with each breath she longed for another fix.

He eyed her oddly as they approached his tent. She'd been unusually quiet on the walk up and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside that head of hers. No doubt she was still processing everything that had just happened; the last few hours, filled with the drama and excitement, had dragged on at a disturbing breakneck pace. They were clear, yet jumbled as hell.

"You okay?" His voice cut into her thoughts, her head jerking up as he recaptured her attention. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, holding it tight around her like a thin layer of armor that would keep all the bad away. If only it would work.

Carol thought about lying and claiming everything was fine, but she couldn't bring herself to form the words. Nothing was right, and what was the point of pretending? So she shook her head as they stopped in front of his weathered tent, her voice soft and broken when she spoke.

"No, I'm really not. Dale. T-Dog. Now Carl? He's so young…" Her mind instantly wanted to think of Sophia, but she refused to go there. There was something else much more pressing to think of. A new, unavoidable threat to be afraid of.

"And now it doesn't matter how hard we try to survive. We're all going to become walkers in the end! Whether we get bit or just die, it doesn't matter. We're not safe," she muttered, tears stinging at her eyes. "We're just dead men walking."

She fell to her knees as her legs gave out beneath her. Everything from the last few weeks hit her all over again, all the death and terror slamming down on her all at once. Her heart and stomach clenched painfully, her chest tightening until she couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down her face as her fingers dug into the flesh of her legs, her nails biting into the skin sharply. The physical pain grounded her, cutting through the emotional and giving her something else to focus on besides her twice shredded heart.

Daryl's own heart ached as he looked down at her, caught up in the whirlwind of emotion. He fell to his knees beside her as a sob wracked her body, placing a slightly awkward hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him at the touch, the pleading look in her eyes plain. Unable to deny her that simple request, he tugged her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as her own locked around his waist. She shattered, falling into his chest and burying her face into his shirt to muffle her cries.

There was nothing Daryl could do but let her go. He held her close, offering the stability she obviously needed, but it was hardly enough. Even though she was the one in tears, he felt helpless. Shifting to fully sit on the ground, he scooted to lean against a tree, pulling her gently with him. She went willingly, curling into his side when they settled. She'd feel bad later for latching onto him as she did, but right now she really couldn't care less.

That sat there for countless minutes before Carol's sobbing began to quiet. The sun beat down on them, a comfortable silence settling in as they sat together, neither of them making a move to disentangle themselves from the other. It was nice, being able to simply relax for once. The fear still nagged at the back of Carol's mind, but that's where it stayed while Daryl's arms were wrapped around her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, tightening her grip on his waist briefly. Shifting slightly against his side, she tilted her head up to look at him. The sun shone in the sky, casting a brilliant silhouette behind him. The soft smile he gave her rivaled that brilliance, flooding her veins with a warmth the sun failed to provide.

"Don't make a fuss of it," he replied with a shrug, the harsh words softened by the gentle tone in his voice. He wasn't about to admit that he really didn't mind being her rock when she needed it, though if she kept rubbing her cheek over his chest, he might just break down and tell her anything she wanted to hear. This woman had gotten under his skin somehow, penetrating through the layers of defenses he'd put up over the years. He wasn't sure how she'd managed it, but every time he turned around, there she was edging her way into his thoughts. Not only that, but he found himself wanting to take care of her, to protect her. She made him feel things he hadn't felt in a hell of a long time, and it scared the shit out of him.

"You, uh," he hesitated, trying to find the right words, "you know I ain't gonna let anythin' happen to you, right? No walker or anythin' else is gonna get you. I'll keep you safe." He punctuated the words with a firm nod, wanting to drive them home and make her believe them.

Bracing a hand on his thigh, Carol pushed herself into a sitting position so she could look at him. "I know. I'd say the same, but protection isn't exactly my forte," she said, a twinge of sadness in her voice. "But I can take care of you. If you'll let me," she added quickly. She had no doubt that Daryl had never needed anyone to take care of him, but she wanted to do what she could. After all he'd done, and had just promised to do, she had to offer something in return even if it wasn't much. Besides, she'd come to the realization that she wanted to take care of him, and not in the motherly role she'd fallen into.

Cupping her cheek in his hand, Daryl wiped the last of her tears from her cheek. Her bright blue eyes still glistened not only with unshed tears, but something else he couldn't name. It was almost the same way she'd looked at Sophia, filled with a loving adoration, yet it was different. It excited him; he could all too easily get used to her looking at him like that. Yet it terrified him; what if he fucked up? Would that adoration be replaced with hatred and loathing? His past was riddled with memories of that particular look fixed on him and she was the last person he wanted looking at him that way.

Leaning forward, he surprised the hell out of them both by pressing his lips to her forehead, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back. Their eyes met as he sat back and in that moment everything changed. He became acutely aware of the scant inches separating them and the burn of her hand on his thigh as her fingers tightened on the material of his jeans. Her skin was smooth beneath his rough fingers and she smelled of the lavender soap she kept in her private stash. Sliding his hand back to curl around the nape of her neck, he watched as her lips parted on a soft gasp. His heart pounded in his chest when he saw her pupils dilate as she roamed her eyes over his face and torso, the fact that she wanted this just as much as he did shooting a flash of desire through his system.

"Daryl..." Carol didn't get to finish whatever half formed thought was trying to get out of her head as Daryl tugged her forward and kissed her. His lips were tense against her own, pressed tight in a firm line. Oddly enough, they were smooth despite the conditions of life these days. She'd expected them to be rough, like him. Not that she'd spent a lot of time thinking about kissing him or anything… She shut down the mental drabble as Daryl withdrew from her.

Not ready for that delicious contact to end, Carol surged forward, covering his lips with her own. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the moment; all she could focus on was him.

Daryl's lips curled into a smile beneath hers. Her fervor delighted him, but he still sensed the timidity behind that passion. She wanted more than just brief kisses—hell, so did he—but she wasn't ready for that. Neither of them were. Sliding his fingers gently across the back of her neck, he parted his lips to swipe his tongue across her closed lips before pulling back again. The act surprised her, her eyes snapping open to stare at him. He didn't let her go, not wanting to take his hands off her, but he put a few more inches of distance between them.

Her fingers flew to her mouth, tracing their outline slowly. Never in her life had she enjoyed a kiss so much as Daryl's and even as brief as it had been, she already missed him. She could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers and good Lord did she want it back. Every part of her being wanted to strain against his hold and ravish him but she refrained with the hopes that they might pick up again later.

Daryl made sure to keep a decent amount of distance between them before pushing to his feet. Emotions were still raw for the both of them and he had no doubt that she would happily respond to any advances he made. Hell, he could probably take her against the hard ground and she would welcome him. It had been ages since he'd last had sex and the thought of a quick roll in the dirt with Carol was tempting as an oasis to a wanderer lost in the desert. She might look all motherly and meek now, but he'd seen the glimpses of fury she'd let slip now and again. She would be hot and willing beneath him and he wanted nothing more than to unlock the passion she tried so hard to bury. Glancing down, he swore under his breath at the growing bulge that pressed against his jeans and took a moment to adjust himself before turning to help her up.

"Do we really have to go back right now? Even if Hershel is done with the surgery, Rick and Lori are going to want to be alone and Carl's going to be out for awhile. We'll just get in the way." She gripped his hand tight as he pulled her to her feet, not wanting to rejoin the others and admit their time was over, even for now. For once she wanted to be selfish and keep him to herself.

"Then they can tell us to fuck off. But we still gotta be there to give them that option." He laughed as she scrunched her nose at his logic, annoyed that she couldn't refute it. Snagging their books off the tree stump he'd taken to using as a table, he tucked them under his arm just in case. If the Grimes did tell them to fuck off, which he wouldn't be terribly surprised at, they'd need some kind of distraction from each other. At least, he would, since he imagined Blondie would whisk Carol off as soon as they reached the house.

He wasn't wrong. They barely made it down the hill and came into view when Beth raced towards them. Daryl slid his hand from Carol's to let the woman open her arms to the girl, feeling something he refused to admit was jealousy as Carol wrapped Beth in a tight hug. He kept walking towards the house, keeping his empty gaze straight ahead.

"Where'd you guys go?" Beth asked as she and Carol trailed after Daryl towards the house. She'd sat in the kitchen with Patricia, nearly having a conniption waiting for Carol to walk through the door. A million possibilities had run through her head, all of them bad and gruesome and ending in another funeral. She was thrilled to see her imaginings were far from true.

"We just needed some time to work through everything on our own," Carol said carefully, keeping her eyes fixed on Daryl as she spoke. She had no idea what was the right thing to say, and the last thing she wanted to do was push him away after what happened by saying something stupid. Wrapping an arm around Beth's shoulder, she pulled the girl close into her side as they walked. Maggie and Glenn were waiting for them on the porch; Maggie sat on the railing, idly swinging her legs back and forth as Glenn stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist with his head resting on her shoulder. They spoke quietly to each other, reassuring words neither of them put much stock into. These days, each "We'll be okay" or "It'll get better" was an empty promise, usually followed by another death.

Glenn looked up as they approached, lifting his head from Maggie's shoulder, but not disentangling himself from her. He caught Daryl's eye and the unspoken greeting passed cordially between them. He smiled at Carol, relieved that both of them seemed to be okay.

"Anything yet?" Daryl lept up the stairs, leaning his hip against the banister beside the couple. His gaze fell on the shed, its doors still shut tight.

"Not a word." Glenn replied sullenly. "They haven't even been in there fifteen minutes and nobody's come to tell us anything. Carl could be-," he broke off, not wanting to finish the thought. They knew nothing and the waiting was killing them. 


	7. Make me Forget

A/N: Alrighty! Guess who's finally updating? :D More than a month since chapter 6, we are finally back with the Shane/Andrea scene I promised so long ago. I really don't think I can apologize enough for keeping this for so damn long; long story short, school was not kind to me for the last month. I got majorly swamped with papers and projects and just did not have the time to devote to 2 AM. But that should be changing! School is done for the semester and all I'm doing this summer is working, so I shall have time galor. In theory, anyway.

Now, onto the chapter. Hopefully it hasn't been too long since you've read and you remember everything that's gone down, though I totally won't blame you if you don't. The scene can honestly be a stand alone with a little tweaking at the beginning, but I would recommend refreshing yourself on everything just to get a good flow going. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think! Also, feel free to throw any tips/hints/critiques in. It's been quite a long time since I've written Hetero smut and my brain did the "does not compute" a time or two.

Drabble over, I swear. Enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead in any way, shape, or form. I merely claim the storyline.

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><p>Inside the RV, Andrea forced Shane to sit at the table and looked down at him. She doubted words could help in this situation but she had to try. "Talk to me, Shane. Please."<p>

She got nothing. _Figures_, she thought. She hadn't expected him to suddenly spill his guts, but some kind of reaction would be nice.

"_Shane_," she half snapped. He jerked slightly, her outburst breaking through slightly.

"And tell you what?" His eyes still didn't focus on her, instead locking onto a spot behind her. She glanced back out of the window, straight at the shed. Frowning, she shifted positions, blocking the window from his view. She forced his head up, cupping his face in her palms.

"Anything. Tell me how you feel, what you're thinking. Hell, tell me about how much you hated the Yankees when they still mattered. I don't give a shit. Just don't sit there and brood."

He shook his head fiercely, bringing his hands up to grasp her waist before pulling her closer. His fingers dug into her flesh, clinging to her as he buried his face in her stomach. No, he didn't want empty words of fleeting comfort. He wanted this, a closeness to someone who wouldn't pull away from him. He needed a connection to another human being who didn't hate him and wasn't afraid of him.

He needed _her_. He breathed her in, relishing the warm, fresh scent that surrounded him. For once, his nostrils weren't full of death and blood. Closing his eyes, he held onto that, wishing for nothing more than this moment of peace to last forever.

She held him to her, her hands gliding over the fuzz growing out on his head. She liked the buzz cut on him—it gave him that gruff, bad boy look that she'd never been able to resist. But she did miss the black curls he'd had when they'd first met. She'd never gotten to run her hands through those and she imagined they would be soft in her fingers and give her the perfect grip to hold him to her.

Shane's arms tightened around her, a silent expression of thanks at her comfort. She touched his cheek gently before sliding her hand back to curl around the base of his neck, her fingers gripping for only an instant before moving on. Her hands moved over him slowly, descending down his neck and across his shoulders to graze over his arms. Her touch left a trail of goosebumps on his skin, a fiery chill shooting down his spine as she kept exploring him. He tucked himself more firmly into her, scooting up on the bench so his back was more accessible. Her touch was nothing short of heaven and he loved the soothing peace it gave him.

Andrea let her hands roam over his back, excitedly exploring the hard muscles she found there. She hadn't been able to do this during their brief, yet incredibly hot, interlude in the car weeks ago and wanted to go about it right this time. She knew exactly where they would end up; that much was inevitable, but she could be sure to take her time on the way there. His hard body had not gone unnoticed in their months together and she'd always wondered what was underneath the taut clothes that clung to his body. The glimpses she'd caught every now and then were hardly enough. She wanted to see all of him, and show him all of her.

Reaching down towards his waist was slightly more difficult. In their current position, their height differences wasn't nearly as pronounced, but she still had to strain her arms to stretch far enough to grab the hem of his shirt. A bit of awkward fidgeting later, her fingers latched onto the edge victoriously. She tugged it fully out of the waistband of his pants, her fingers delving beneath to brush the smooth skin that waited for her.

The moment she did, all hesitancy flew out the window. Nudging his arms up, she pulled the shirt roughly over his shoulders and head, tossing it haphazardly over her shoulder when she got it free. She didn't give it another thought as her eyes fell on the naked expanse of his torso and her breath caught in her throat.

Dear God he was gorgeous.

Every inch of him was a beautiful golden brown, a colour that made her mouth water as she wondered if it was his natural skin tone or just a tan. Would she find patches of lighter skin when she finally tugged his pants off? She desperately wanted to know.

But she reigned herself back a little, forcing herself to slow down and remember that this wasn't about her, but him.

Shane watched her intently through all this, unable to keep from feeling just a little proud to see her eyes light up when she saw him. In any other situation, he'd show off a bit, flexing his biceps and pecs for her. No doubt she'd go crazy over that, but now wasn't the time. Right now, he wanted her slow, gentle explorations more than anything else. It felt weird, just sitting there and not participating, but there would definitely be plenty of time for that later.

Reaching out, he gripped her hand in his, squeezing gently before placing it back on his chest. Their eyes locked, his silently giving permission to continue when hers begged for it. His hand fell away as hers slid over his skin.

This was nothing like their adrenaline fueled tryst in the car days ago. That had been completely about fulfilling a need, scratching a mutual itch. But this? This was something completely different. This was about trust and comfort.

Andrea slid her hands up over his chest, along his shoulders, and down his arms. Shane's hands crept up to grip her sides, fingers delving beneath her shirt to curl into the curves of her hips. Nudging her shirt up, he leaned forward to replace his fingers with his lips. Her skin was perfect beneath them, supple, smooth, and enticing. He traced the jut of her hipbone with his tongue, gently nipping at the skin.

Andrea slid her hips forward, trying to get closer to Shane and his wonderfully talented hands. Those were tools she'd thought about often since their last meeting. Oh, the things he had done with those hands! And with such little time. She flushed at the memory, every inch of her tingling in excitement and anticipation. With everyone off in their own little worlds, they had all the time they could want and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend that time with him. And his hands.

Her thin shirt hid practically nothing from him at this short distance, but still he wanted to see more. He needed her bared before him, at least from the waist up. Pushing the material higher, he traced a path with his tongue, dipping into her bellybutton and over her ribs before stopping just below the band of her bra.

She shimmied out of the shirt quickly, tugging it over her head and letting it fall to her side as his hands resumed their explorations. His fingers slid along the band of her bra and around to her back. He flicked the clasp of her bra open with his fingers, thankful for the little skill he'd picked up in high school. Rushed rendezvous in the back of his father's car had taught him well.

Andrea chucked the bra to the side, finally revealing her breasts to his hungry gaze. They were gorgeous, perfectly shaped and just full enough to fill a man's hands. As he cupped them in his own, he thought back to the days in high school when he'd only wanted girls with impressive racks that overflowed his all too eager hands. He was glad he'd outgrown such dumbass fantasies, because really, any more than a handful was a waste.

He nipped at the underside of her breast, kneading her flesh in his hand. Sliding his lips across her skin, he laved at her nipple, flicking his tongue over the quickly hardening bud. He bit down gently, loving the way she gasped and clutched him closer. Wanting it to hear it again, he cupped her right breast, groping gently before capturing her nipple between his forefinger and thumb. He pinched and tugged, devoting just as much attention to it as he did the other. He wanted her wiggling to continue, wanted her squirming in every attempt to have him closer.

Andrea moaned, cursing under her breath as she wrenched his head away. Much more of that and this little bout would end a lot sooner than she anticipated. Holding his head in her hands, she tilted his face up to look at her. She caught that glimmer of lust and need before she bent to kiss him.

Her head spun at the taste of him-hot, powerful, and deliciously Shane. She pulled him to his feet, reluctantly breaking the kiss to grab his hand and lead him to the back room of the Winnebago. Both beds were tiny as hell and she didn't know who had slept in them last or even if the sheets had been changed recently. But right now she really didn't give a damn.

Her hands flew to his pants, fingers working at his belt, button, and zipper to shove them down his legs. Shane toed his boots off, hardly caring enough to bother with unlacing them properly. He kicked them away, sliding his pants off after them. Left only in his boxer briefs, he felt overdressed.

He wanted her in just the same state and nearly tore the button off her jeans in his rush to have her fully undressed. He shoved her jeans down around her knees as she slid out of her shoes, bracing herself against the wall as he dragged her pants off.

He glided his hands over every inch of exposed skin he could reach, curling around her calves, thighs, and hips. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the boy shorts she wore, sliding his finger along her hipbones before dragging the garment down and off. He slowly raked his gaze over her as he straightened to his feet, appreciating the smooth curves and hard lines of her body. The small tuft of neatly trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs excited him; if there had been any doubt about her being a natural blonde, there sure wasn't now.

He grinned as he met her gaze, pleased to see she didn't flush under his stare like some naive little schoolgirl about to have the most awkward three minutes of her life. No, she knew her body well and was proud of it. He liked it. He liked her, and he was damned sorry he hadn't gotten to see all of her that first time in the car. Big mistake.

Stepping forward, he placed a hand on either side of her head on the wall and leaned over her. His height different was drastically emphasized as he loomed over her, surrounding her with his frame. The hungry look was back, filling his eyes with a ferocity that made her heart thump and her blood boil.

Moisture pooled between her legs as her arousal hit her dead on. Lifting a leg, she hooked her foot around his calf and jerked him forward. She kissed him as he fell on her, her arms winding around his neck as he pressed her back into the wall. His erection, still hidden by the cloth of his underwear, jutted against her belly, hard and heavy.

Andrea slid her tongue over Shane's lip, exploring his mouth as her hand explored his body. Every wonderful inch of him was rigid and hot to her touch; there wasn't an extra inch on him anywhere. His abdomen was a thing of legend, each muscle clearly defined into that perfect six-pack that every woman secretly longed to touch.

Her feathering touch nearly broke him. He knew the strength of those hands and yet they flew across him deftly, no more than a whisper. They sought boldly, yet touched shyly. It was a deadly combination to his already hyper-aware body-each centimeter lower was tortuously wonderful.

Finally her fingers snaked into the boxer briefs to curl around his cock. He groaned into her mouth, hips thrusting forward to place himself completely in her hands. Her fairy touches grew into full strokes as she wrapped her hand fully around him. Fuck, it felt incredible. But he needed more than just her hand.

He needed all of her, writhing beneath him and giving him everything she had to offer.

He slid his hand down body, roaming over shoulders, breasts, and hips, squeezing each in turn before moving on. He ended with her rump, taking an extra moment to blatantly grope her. Just from the feel he could tell that gorgeous ass had been sculpted from hours of strenuous exercise, and the end result was perfection. He hoisted her up, locking his fingers under his rear to support her.

Her legs shot around his waist to steady herself. It forced her hand out of his briefs, but it placed his cock right at her core, the only thing separating them the thin cotton he strained against desperately.

He turned them towards the bed as Andrea marveled at his strength. She was slim, more fit than petite, but Shane held her as if she weighed nothing. It was exhilarating, to know that body held so much power and just how much he held back. She wrapped herself tighter around him, burying her face in his neck as he lowered them to the bed. She grazed his skin with her teeth, biting playfully before running her tongue over the mark. His body tensed above her.

"Get these off," she whispered into his ear, pulling at his underwear. He rolled off of her only long enough to be rid of them and his body was over hers again in seconds. She ran her hands over him quickly, eagerly stroking wherever she could reach. She wanted to take more time with him, but was desperate to have him inside her. her need only rocketed when he dipped a hand between her legs, parting her slick folds.

He stroked her slowly, sliding his fingers along her slit to tease her. Every few strokes he let a finger slip inside, but only enough to drive her wild. He loved the way she responded to him, passionately and with complete abandon. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into the skin sharply enough to leave marks. He hoped.

He slid a finger inside her, grinning when she hissed in pleasure. She was so slick, more than ready for him. But still he played with her and added another finger. Her walls clenched around the digits as he pulled them out only to drive them home again, mimicking what he'd soon be doing with his body. Her little gasps and moans filled the room as he slowly worked her up even more.

"Shane!" His name slipped past Andrea's lips, a desperate and strangled plea. Frankly she was surprised she could still form words at this point. His fingers toyed with her, stretching her, but not nearly enough. She wanted his cock thrusting inside her.

"Please," she begged, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his cock. Two could play this game.

She stroked him firmly from base to tip, sliding easily into a smooth rhythm. He groaned, letting his head fall forward against her shoulder. He wanted to slam into her now, every muscle poised to do just that. Thankfully a shred of reason crawled into his brain before he did. There was already one unplanned pregnancy in the camp—they didn't need another.

Breaking away from her, he leaned across her body to fumble around in a duffle bag until his hand closed around the familiar foil packaging. He tore it open quickly, using his teeth to rip the top off. Discarding the unnecessary bits, he wasted no time in rolling it on over his cock.

Resuming his place overtop Andrea, he kissed her hard. She snaked her hand down between them and took his shaft in her hand. Without hesitation, she led him inside her slowly, inch by wondrous inch until he was hilted inside her. She moaned against his lips at the sensation of him filling her.

Shane stilled above her, taking a moment to let them both adjust. She felt even better than he remembered, wrapped around him like a glove. The second she lifted her head to plead into his ear, he resumed thrusting. He pulled out of her until only the tip of his cock remained inside her then slid back home. The mewling sound she made was music to his ears and more than sufficient motivation. He slowly quickened his thrusts and fell into an easy rhythm.

Andrea slid her hands over Shane's body, loving the way his muscles bunched and corded as he thrust into her. He felt incredible and each rock of his hips pushed her closer to the edge as she bucked her hips up to meet his pace. Shane caught her hips as she did so, angling her hips up and stilling them in his hands.

She nearly saw stars.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed. Her hands flew up to cling at his shoulders as her nails dug into his skin. She clawed at him as he shifted above her to brace himself on an elbow. His new position meant each thrust brushed her clit, sending that extra spark through her and she felt dangerously close to coming.

Shane merely chuckled, leaned down to kiss her, and thrust his tongue into her mouth, mimicking his hips. All she could do was wrap herself tighter around him and hold on. It wasn't hard to feel how close she was to shattering beneath him: the eyes squeezed shut, the shallow breaths she barely managed to drag in. She was ready to splinter and he was dying to see it.

Reaching between them, he found the hard bud straining out for attention with his thumb. He circled it gently, keeping in time with his thrusts. Her eyes flew open, she wrenched her head backwards, and she came apart around him. Her body clenched down with her release as it tore through her and through the sudden constriction, Shane's thrusts became short and quick as he rushed to meet her. She raked her nails down his back and he groaned as she threw him over the edge. He collapsed against her as he released himself inside her, rolling slightly to keep his weight off of her.

They lay there in post-sex bliss, each too sated to move and too tired to care. Andrea idly ran her fingers over Shane's back while he toyed with her hair.

"Thank you," he finally whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She shifted to smile at him and wiggled closer.

"Anytime. Believe me, it was my pleasure," she responded, watching as his mouth turned up into that wicked grin. The one she thought had long since died and had missed so dearly that she traced it with her finger to memorize it. If she never saw it again, she would always retain this memory. Always remember what it looked like and how it felt o be the cause of that smile. She hoped one day—when some semblance of normalcy returned to the world—she'd get to see it more often. He needed something to smile about every day, something bright and happy to hold onto again.

She'd be damned if anyone would take that right away from her.

"I might have to take you up on that," Shane murmured against her fingers. He kissed them quickly, catching one between his teeth and biting down just enough to make her squeal. He wasn't disappointed. Did she know how endearing that girlish squeal was? He sincerely doubted it. Especially at the end of the world, Andrea was not one to give in to girly tendencies. Any passing joke or comment about those tendencies (or their absence) was still met with a biting retort and a huffing stalk away. She was a funny one, his girl.

His girl.

The phrase made him pause long enough for her to tug her finger away and as she lay there beneath him jokingly nursing the bitten digit, he realized just how much he liked the sound of it. A part of his heart would always belong to Lori, especially after everything they'd been through, but he couldn't deny he and Andrea were good together. _Could_ be good together. He liked the idea of calling her his girl, of being able to maybe love and be loved in this fucked up world.

For the first time in months, in the sweaty aftermath of the Winnebago, he genuinely had something to smile about again. She'd made him forget about the horrors that still stalked them beyond the farm's boundaries. She'd made his jaded heart want to beat again. And most of all, in a world where he'd thought such foolish things lost forever, she was becoming his beacon of hope.


End file.
